


The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

by Viscount_Vampyre



Category: Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Battle Scenes, Break the Cutie, Coming of Age, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Female Protagonist, Fights, Fish out of Water, Gen, Loss, Medieval, Nobility, Pirates, Revenge, Serious, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 217,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscount_Vampyre/pseuds/Viscount_Vampyre
Summary: These are the adventures of a young dark elf noble as she seeks fame, fortune, and glory across the world. Leaving Naggaroth and her family behind Raveres quickly learns that she'll have to toughen up if she wants to succeed.Rated M for explicit content, sex, and general themes.Read and review, thank you! More descriptive summary and forward in the first chapter.





	1. Part One

Author’s Introduction:

This story draws inspiration from various sources and other works.

But at its core this story is about the adventures of a young Druchii, Dark Elf.

Born into a minor family and without any real chances to inherit she decides that she has to make her own way. Whatever that may mean, and whatever that might cost… She’ll learn, make allies along the way, stumble and err.

There will be a whole wide world for her to explore and danger around each corner. This tale will have swords and sorcery, death and destruction, sex, and blood.

Warhammer Fantasy is a beautiful and lore rich universe. And there will, hopefully, be a little something in my story for everyone, knights, princes, dread lords, dwarves, humans, elves, demons, dragons, magic and steel…

Read and review or leave a comment to let me know what you think; did you like it? Have I made a contradiction? Did I breach the lore? Or is there an issue with syntax or grammar?

Please let me know! It helps me to improve, and to craft a better story.

Lots of love,

VV

 

So without any further ado, it is my sincere hope that you’ll enjoy:

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part One

The modest port north of Blacklight Tower saw ships coming and going from the Sea of Malice to the Sea of Chill and then into the great waters beyond.

While not as important a trading port as that of Karond Kar, Slaver’s Point, or nearby Har Ganeth, the traffic of Blacklight Tower’s port was therefore typically limited to small raiding vessels, local fishing boats, or independent traders and their comparatively small loads of cargo.

It was summer; the waters flowed freely, and sunlight shone through bleak and thinning clouds over the relatively sleepy Druchii town.

Far from the Black Court and far from the scheming powerful estates of the noble families, Blacklight Tower and its citizens enjoyed a unique quiet which was often lacking in the more populated centres of Naggaroth.

That is not to say that the city didn’t also have its share of blood sacrifice, wailing slaves, and plots, just that it was far less numerous. Those ‘in power’ in the town sought to remain under the notice of nearby Karond Kar and so ostentatious displays of the citizens’ wealth were limited only to the appropriate holy days of the calendar.

A young Druchii family was currently seeing its prospects and its fortunes begin to climb, but despite the success of this family, and the activities of some of its members, there was one who sought to someday out do them all…

…

“So you mean to go through with your plan?”

The stern and commanding voice of a masculine Druchii sounded amidst the general hum of the tavern.

A young, long haired, female Druchii sat opposite the modestly dressed male and nodded confidently.

The male sighed, it wasn’t a sigh of resignation; he was more surprised in his blood than anything.

He awkwardly looked towards the wide windows of the establishment and tapped his fingers rhythmically along the smooth wooden surface of the table between the two Druchii.

Out of the corner of his grey eyes he looked at his child and maintained a level tone as he asked his next question.

“How long are you intending to be away from Naggaroth?”

The young woman cleared her throat and did her best to remain sure.

She had rehearsed her words with one of her home’s slaves several times, and the questions she had her slave repeat back to her were eerily similar to the ones that her father had so far asked.

“Just a few years at most…”

She knew the most important part of her interaction with her father was to come.

If she were to receive his blessing here it meant that the ‘hard’ part of her journey at home was over, and the rest would be actually holding up her word…

“After my company…” she paused and averted her eyes downwards to the well-presented and sparsely touched food on her plate.

“…That is; the company I will be journeying with secures enough spoils and slaves to make good your investment I shall return and present myself to you.”

She looked back up at her father to see that he had raised his chin, and was looking down at her over his nose. Typically this was an expression he reserved for his children when they were unruly, or for clumsy slaves around the family’s home.

But it always had a way of making her feel displeasure; no… actually it made her feel wrathful.

‘Why couldn’t he ever look at me like he does the first born?’ she’d often think petulantly. ‘Both my first born brother and first born sister enjoy fathers favour!’

Many a time she had thought about killing him while he slept… but, her brothers would probably scourge her to death… And that’s not even addressing the fact that father was never alone; at least one of his bodyguards and two slaves were with him at all times…

He’d acquired a pair of Norscan brothers many years ago and the two former raiders had acclimatised to their new roles as his most brutal defenders quite well, at least as well as bearded and uncivilised humans could be expected…

As much as any Druchii she’d felt like and enjoyed plotting a murder, or planning out her revenge… But the longer she’d brood about it the more she realised that it wasn’t ever in her interest to actually try and kill her father.

Theirs was a wealthy family. Not extravagantly wealthy… but certainly not that of common tradesmen!

Her father furrowed his brow, pursed his lips, and as he raised an eyebrow turned his attention to his plate.

The establishment that the father and daughter, along with their entourage, were in was less of a tavern, and more of a place for the families of the small town to dine and conduct business at.

The hall itself was part of a larger building and safe conduct had been assured by an unspoken agreement amongst all in Blacklight Tower’s demesne of its status as neutral ground.

Picking his fork back up he pierced a cut, bite sized, piece of meat.

He inhaled sharply through his nose and clicked his tongue, “I am curious Raveres… What level of profit could one expect from this place that you’ve mentioned?”

He punctuated the question by chewing the soft and seasoned meat quietly in his mouth.

The younger Druchii felt a sudden rush of excitement, ‘He said my name! A-and he actually asked a question! In his business voice too!’

Her heart beat a little harder as she hid her glee.

‘He’s seriously considering my proposal!’

‘Calm down… calm down. Now answer him, just like you practised.’

“Well… after the initial costs for provisions and crew, the place that has been chartered sees bountiful crops, untouched and virgin land and soil, as well as primitive and supplicant populations.”

He cut more of his dinner off the bone and ‘hmm-ed’ along as she spoke.

“Jaylish, that boy I know from the Kalinside family? He’s set up a similar operation and if conservative figures are correct…” she hushed herself in case of eavesdropping patrons before continuing, “He’s now seeing annual returns of goods and slaves worth in the hundreds of thousands!”

Eating another piece of meat Raveres’ father looked up before reaching for his goblet of wine. Taking a sip he nodded, wordlessly indicating that she was to continue.

“We could see as many as fifty or so healthy and strong slaves after our first expedition, and from there any foodstuffs or exotic goods would be able to be preserved before bringing them back home.”

Swallowing the older Druchii laid down his fork and leaned back in his chair.

“And then?”

Raveres looked down before readying herself.

“Then, as I said, I would present myself and all that I had brought to you; in the hopes that it would please you, father.”

Raveres’ father nodded and he sighed again, “You’ve been planning this for a while…”

She nodded.

“And the late night sessions with your mother’s coiffure slave… That’s been what?”

Raveres held her breath before answering, “I’ve been using her to practise…” her voice dropped in youthful embarrassment, “…this moment.”

The male Druchii put down his fork and brought his hands onto the table; covering over his right with his left.

“You know…” he began.

“I had half a mind to suspect that you were up to something, but it never would have occurred to me that this was it.”

“Your siblings have begun to go their own ways, but each in direct service of, and glory to our family…”

His voice began to take on its grand, pontificating, tone. Raveres felt his typical familial speech coming, but she held fast and remained stoic. She wasn’t about to give him any excuse to say no to her request.

“My father came to this area of Naggarond with only the Witch King’s blessing. And that is by no means the truth… My father did not really enjoy favour in the Black Court. He was not even known by any of the older noble families… He was able to have married well and he the received blessings from the gods for his enormous run of luck.”

Leaning forwards and towards his daughter the older Druchii continued,

“He was lucky right up until he was gutted by some low born sell-sword over a case of mistaken identity…” he dryly laughed, “What we have right now, the legacy which has been built off of a man who was murdered like a pig in an abattoir, is only because of what I, and my brother have done.”

Raveres had heard this many times before… and she nodded as he declared; “For our family.”

“I’ve frozen my balls off in the north fighting those gods-damned chaos savages…” he laughed, “I thought I’d never sire any more progeny, but regardless… So far each of my children has been able to fix the family’s duty firmly in their minds.”

‘Oh gods… here it comes…’ Raveres cringed.

“Take your eldest brother for instance. He’s a Dreadlord Legatus.”

Raveres’ father’s chest swelled with pride, “In his last letter he told how he was in command of nearly three thousand troops. And what of your eldest sister? She’s married well, her husband’s among the few Druchii bearing royal assent to trade in the south.”

Raveres hated the constant comparison to her siblings.

She was the second youngest of eight and felt woefully out of her league when compared to her elder siblings… Each of them had more years and more experience than her, and enjoyed what seemed to be far more fortune than her…

Being so low in the birth order also meant that Raveres was also not looking at a legitimate level of influence in the family’s affairs, or allotment from the family’s estates…

If she was going to ever be able to exert her will, this expedition was her only real shot. But she continued to hide her nervousness and watched her father attentively.

Though in a strange break of character her father stopped himself, apparently she wasn’t masking her thoughts as well as she had hoped…

“You disapprove?” he asked.

Raveres’ eyes shot widely open, and quickly she jumped to verbally defend herself, “No, no! I merely-“

Her father raised a hand and cut her off.

“Say no more of it.”

He looked at her plate and then back up to her face.

“Your companions…”

She tensely nodded, afraid that his consent was now about to be raised out of her reach.

“They know well enough to stay away from your…” he raised an eyebrow and wordlessly indicated with a gesture what he was referring to.

Raveres nervously smiled and nodded, “I’d kill any of them were they to so much as think of me in that way.”

He nodded approvingly.

“Good… That’s what the slaves aboard are for, surely…”

Raveres’ father had lived his entire life without ever having set foot aboard a ship.

Not once in his military past had he ever been near a troop transport, each campaign he had ever been on he had gotten to by marching.

And now having spent almost two hundred years in the comfort and warmth of his home, tended to by slaves, and well taken care of there were a few things he began to take for granted and assume about the world outside of his affairs, and his dynasty.

‘I doubt we’ll be able to have too many slaves for our own uses outside of sailing the ship…’ she thought, ‘The ship isn’t going to be big enough for that many comforts father…’

But she wasn’t about to voice her thoughts, and instead focused on the serious work at hand.

“So…” Raveres began; her heart was beginning to thump loudly as she anxiously approached the golden question head on,

“Do I have your support?”

Her father reached for his goblet and took a long sip of his wine.

Each second Raveres itched and sweated as anticipation infected her from her forehead to her toes.

“I would like to meet this captain first.”

Raveres sharply exhaled, ‘H-he… he agreed! Wait, did he agree? Well it wasn’t a ‘no’!’ she took a breath, ‘but it wasn’t a ‘yes’ either…”

Meekly she began, before finding her voice and mustering some of her earlier confidence, “So… that’s a yes?”

The male Druchii moved his head forwards in a nod.

“Unless your captain is an excessive fool… Yes… you have my blessing.”

Raveres hid her smile just a little longer, she’d now have to play up to and listen extra attentively to her father until she actually left.

“But Raveres… mark my words, if you come back with a bastard child, or if you fail our house in anyway, and still return? I will cast you out of the family and have you paraded through the town.”

Raveres had seen her father serious before, and she knew he wasn’t making an idle boast or an exaggerated threat.

One of her brothers had shamed the family, and though she was too young to remember what he had done, she did remember vividly her father meting out the punishment in front of all her immediate family and the household slaves and servants.

The sight of her father wielding a barbed scourge had never fully exited her mind, and since then she had lived in respectful fear of her father’s wrath.

“I will not fail you, or the family, father.”

He nodded curtly.

“Good. Now I may consider this business closed, and I release you from my sight.”

Raveres stood from her seat and bowed her head as she took a step back from the table.

“Take Riccard and make your way back home.”

Upon hearing his name the large and muscular human stepped from behind Raveres’ father’s chair and walked beside the female Druchii.

“If she strays from the path Riccard...”

“I won’t father! I swear.”

Eyeing his daughter hesitantly the elder Druchii relented.

“I will explain this request of yours to mother. Now go…”

Raveres bowed again and then turned towards the exit of the warm hall.

Stepping outside she allowed herself to finally smile and breathe easily.

‘You did it!’ she thought, ‘and! He said yes!’

“Congratulations Lady Raveres.”

The Norscan slave spoke the Druchii tongue, but like many he retained an accent and limited vocabulary. Though in Raveres’ opinion it helped Riccard retain an intimidating charm on any who might wish her, her father, or her family harm.

She tilted her chin and gloated haughtily for a moment before beginning to walk down the lightly populated cobblestone street.

“I suppose it is a form of accomplishment isn’t it?”

Riccard held his left hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword and nodded, “Aye, milady. Your father’s become much more despondent as of late. In all honesty I’m surprised he agreed.”

Raveres looked at her bodyguard and furrowed her thin eye brows, “What? He’s not seemed all that different to me…”

Riccard nodded but risked an answer which bordered on excessive familiarity; “Well, you don’t spend all your day with him, do you?”

The Druchii held her tongue, he was right of course. And though another master may have hit their slave for such perceived insolence, Riccard was her father’s property. In fact though she had grown up attended to by her family’s slaves she was reminded often that they were not hers to discipline.

Neither were they hers to do with as she pleased…

So rather than mope or impotently brood, Raveres grew instead to try and enjoy the company of those in her family’s employ.

While it may have been poor form, and against convention, she enjoyed her quiet moments with Riccard, he and just a few other slaves were the only ones she was so familiar or comfortable with.

While many Druchii believed that allowing house slaves to retain a ‘personality’ caused them to develop more unseemly behaviours, Raveres’ father and mother felt that beating your slave past the point of servitude and into a catatonic state was far more unseemly when entertaining guests then having a slave which might display ‘cheek’ or even, Khaine forbid, ‘wit’.

Though she wasn’t about to admit Riccard was correct Raveres nonetheless pursued the point; “How has he been regarding my brother?”

Riccard knew well enough not to bite and divulge sensitive information about his master; but he played along and translated a typical Norscan phrase of his tribe “Wars often throw many fortunes into the air... Only the gods know the outcomes.”

Raveres smiled, “Still have your wits don’t you human?”

“Aye, as long as your father permits.”

The female groaned as she looked at a spot of uneven road ahead, water and garbage pooled in the space between some missing stones, and a few Druchii urchins were loudly cheering while throwing stones at a Skaven slave.

The matted fur and disheveled appearance of the Skaven made it clear that he was a labourer of some kind; perhaps on his way to or from a task, hunger and desperation had driven the creature to currently rifle through the refuse.

Raveres turned her nose and a small scowl of disgust formed across her lips.

“Ugh… I detest Skaven, but I detest orphan urchins even more…”

Riccard chuckled, “Shall I make them wet their pants milady?”

Raveres smirked, “That’d be good fun! Go on Riccard… show me what you humans do…”

The Norscan gruffly laughed and stomped his feet as he growled and roared at the children while charging them.

The small dirty Druchii began screaming and running down a nearby alley while the Skaven slave shrieked and scurried along the edge of the street on all fours, his potential meal abandoned for fear of _real_ punishment at the hands of a brutish and large human.

Raveres laughed loudly, accompanied by a few nearby adult Druchii, as Riccard returned to his mistress’ side smile erupted across his bearded and scarred face.

“Now, to the house?” the human asked.

The Druchii female nodded, “Alright, alright… Come on…”

The two walked closely together down the main street before turning out of the market quarter and towards the wealthier height of the tiered town. Raveres’ family manse was nestled towards the centre of the noble quarter and near the walls of the citadel around which the town had been built.

It wasn’t called Blacklight Tower for nothing…

And on the crest of the rocky hill which overlooked the small port was a walled keep and tall central tower. The rest of the town was protected by a curtain wall which encircled this Druchii castle and kept the inhabitants safe from raiders or any of those who would endeavour to put the castle town to siege.

…

Raveres’ family’s mansion was built in accordance to the ordinances and customs of the town and so was very much in keeping with the style of the Druchii nobles.

At first it was a small villa, but over the years, as her family’s fortunes improved, her father made additions to the original centre hall; adding two wings and a larger entrance way around an inner courtyard with an open air pool and small fountain.

When Raveres and Riccard approached the mansions’ front steps the armoured guardsman nodded and hit the end of his halberdier against the thick wooden door.

The hit was rhythmic and was actually part of a coded language.

Each member of the family had a signal, and there were also hits for if it was a guest calling or official business.

The door unlocked and a silk clad elf slave stood to the side of the thick, rivet, and double barred wood.

She bowed her head and her mid-length blonde hair fell onto her front as Raveres entered.

The female high elf had been acquired as a youth by Raveres’ mother and served as the mansion’s hostess.

She was beautiful and had a sharp mind, able to woo and soothe the mercantile Druchii guests that the family often had to entertain, but it was the fact that she was obviously a pureblood high elf which helped to impress and interest guests and business relations.

“Welcome home Lady Raveres…”

The high elf’s voice was quiet and meek.

She knew of Raveres’ plan, and was currently waiting to see the Druchii’s expression. Hopefully her father had acquiesced and Raveres was going to be in a good mood.

Slowly the elf looked up and felt pleasant relief.

Raveres was smiling.

Closing the door behind Riccard, the elf immediately came to assist Raveres in taking off her cloak.

“So, my lady… He said yes?”

Raveres let out a laugh and nodded as the slave unclipped the dark grey cloak from her shoulders.

“He did Elianna… I’m actually going to be leaving Naggaroth on my own for once!”

The slave couldn’t help but feel success herself, any of the family’s gains were in a way, her gains too. The individual victories of the members she’d grown up serving had always felt in an odd way somehow her victories too.

After all without Elianna, without Riccard, and all the other servants, slaves, employees and guards Raveres’ family would have had a much harder time operating.

Elianna had somewhat grown up alongside Raveres, and though the two were different in station and blood they were close enough in age that comparisons between the two women were often made by bolder or inebriated guests.

Of their female slaves Elianna was the only one allowed to wear silk. The dress which she currently wore was of a quality just below that of the ladies of the house.

Though she was encouraged to, Raveres seldom wore finery. She wore only a few pieces of golden jewelry; a few rings on her fingers and simple emerald cut studs in her ears.

Elianna, though a slave, wore a golden gilt collar around her neck, more symbolic than practical; it often complimented her appearance and could have easily been mistaken for an elaborate choker rather than a slave’s shackle.

Under the bottom of her thin dress there were two black and gold anklets around each of her legs, and if she moved quickly they jangled together and alerted of her approach.

Her long elvish ears were pierced in several places and an intricate series of silver and gold rings gave her an asymmetrical appearance.

Everything about her was dressed to impress.

But despite her clean and carefully manicured appearance Elianna still complied with any order her masters gave her. She naturally had no choice, and had long ago internalised that she never would.

The easiest and least degrading of what she could be expected to do was remove her family’s footwear and travelling clothes.

The smell of the outside streets was revolting in the summer as the ground had thawed and loosened, but Elianna had developed a skillful way of removing Raveres and her family member’s boots with the least amount of exposure to filth.

Despite this skill there remained a piece of cloth and a small wash bowl on the floor of the doorway. Elianna would never dream of touching dirty hands to her master’s clothes and so a quick wash was not an inconvenience to whichever Druchii she was helping at the doorway.

In fact the small courtesy was a pleasant feature of Raveres’ household and she was thankful of it each time she returned…

As Elianna hung Raveres’ cloak in the small alcove to the right of the door the Druchii turned to Riccard; “See to my armour, and make ready weapons for my departure.”

The Norscan grunted, “I’ll sharpen your blade myself.”

With a curt bow of his head he began walking across the foyer and towards one of the servant’s passages.

A small armoury had been dug out in the foundation of the mansion and it contained enough arms and armaments to equip every member of the household and staff in the event of a riot, siege, or some other occasion that would necessitate such a defence of the corridors and chambers of the noble home.

Raveres tilted back to watch Elianna descend to unclip and pull off her mud and filth coated boots.

“You will leave cleaning my boots for later; in fact, give the task to one of the boys.”

Elianna nodded as she placed the leather footwear down against the wall to the left of the door. Once her legs were free of the elf slave’s hands Raveres began walking barefoot across the warm tile of the heated room and towards the mansions’ staircase.

She raised her voice as she began mounting the steps.

“After you’ve delegated that, bring one of the strong eunuchs with you and assist me in packing.”

Elianna bowed her head as Raveres ascended out of view, “Yes milady.”

…

Darting towards the servant’s passage, her ankle rings clanging loudly, Elianna began calling: “Boy! I need one of the boys!”

Getting closer to the mansions, always busy, kitchen Elianna could hear the sniggering and shrill laughter of the slave children.

The children were recently acquired as collateral for a debt owed to Raveres’ father. The debtor had seemingly defaulted and so, rather unexpectedly, the household had added four youths, each around ten years of age, to the rolls of the mansion’s staff.

Two of the young boys were hitting each other as a third looked on loudly cheering as Elianna entered the hot kitchen.

One was Druchii, and the other two were human.

The Druchii and the smaller of the human boys were both smacking and punching at each other while the largest of the three watched and yelled encouragement.

The kitchen staff continued working, occasionally turning from the evening’s meal to watch the children’s bout.

Elianna rolled her eyes, ‘These brutish country peasants…’

Though Elianna was a slave, she was one of the house’s senior staff, and she was still a high elf; as such she had cultivated a haughty and elite attitude towards her ‘fellow’ slaves.

She was never comfortable among the others and they often felt uneasy around her, treating her with a similar degree of respect and fear to what they showed Raveres and her siblings.

“Boys cease your foolishness this instant!” she sternly roared.

The children stopped mid action and each looked at her wide eyed.

“One of you shall clean Lady Raveres’ boots, I don’t care who… Just see that it’s done or I’ll have you whipped by Crag.”

The children scurried past her towards the foyer, trying to fight each other over who would be first to the assigned task.

Elianna looked towards the kitchen staff and they each hurriedly turned back to their work.

“Has anyone seen Crag by the way?” she asked.

One of the human cooks looked away from the hot oven in front of them and pointed towards the slaves’ dormitory corridor behind her.

“I believe he was in there…”

Elianna turned and began towards the ‘male’ dormitory.

The few male slaves that the home had, had all been gelded, the only exceptions to this policy were Riccard and his brother but they were keenly aware of the risks and were not about to do anything to potentially lose their balls…

Those two, ‘functional’, males aside, there wasn’t about to be any unnecessary breeding amongst the slaves in this home.

And with so many daughters, Raveres’ father was wisely looking out for the purity of his future grandchildren as well.

Elianna smiled to herself as she recollected her master’s remarks on the subject;

“If more slaves are needed that’s what the market is for…” the Druchii would often declare, “We don’t need them fucking like rabbits, and stinking up _my_ house with their ululating and vulgar noises.”

The slave Crag was therefore a eunuch, but the actual logistics of the procedure had fortuitously not sapped his strength.

He was apparently bought from a slaver who’d acquired him from the far off continent of Ind… But Elianna doubted such tales. Though she’d never left nor known anything but Naggarond her whole adult life…

Crag was darkly skinned and bald on his face and head but his arms were broad and his body was covered in scars from his time as a fighter before being sold as a ‘draught-horse’ slave.

Opening the lockless door to the dorm Elianna saw that he was sitting on the floor of the male bunkroom with his legs crossed and head bowed low.

“Praying to your gods?” she asked quizzically.

He sighed and exhaled satisfactorily.

“Aye…”

He clapped his hands together before standing and turning to face the elf.

“What must I move?”

Elianna smirked.

“Raveres requires a chest… She’ll be leaving on a journey and you will carry whichever one you select to her chambers for her.”

The man nodded.

“It shall be done.”

Elianna turned to leave but a queer sensation shivered across her bare shoulder.

“Crag?”

He looked at her with his intense and dark eyes, “Yes Elianna?”

“What was it you were praying for?”

He softened and his shoulders relaxed, “That my strength may yet endure… Without it I shall die. And if I die, who then will carry Raveres’ chest?”

Elianna laughed, “Does it work?”

He raised a non-existent eyebrow, “Praying?”

She nodded.

He flexed his arm and watched the muscle move, “So far…”

Elianna furrowed her brow and wordlessly left the room.

Crag sniggered and wiped off his plain clothes before following the elf.

…

Raveres packed everything she thought that she’d need and a few days later, when the captain said that they had the tide and wind she departed.

Her father and mother watched approvingly as their youngest daughter boarded and the dark ship left the port.

Her parents were accompanied by a few of her siblings, many of their slaves, and much of their guard.

It was a quiet affair. But it spoke volumes to Raveres’ spirit.

And the sight made her feel a surge of glory she’d never felt before.

Before she’d left her mother bestowed an amulet of Khaine and implored her; “Wear it until you are returned to us… And bathe it in the blood of your first killing. Such an offering will lend you the favour of the dark lord.”

Raveres pressed a hand to her chest, feeling for the powerful talisman under her thick clothes.

She waved once to her family before turning towards the bow of the ship.

The sailors unfurled the black sheets of the ships’ rigging and the mates yelled orders as they went about their work.

The captain and leader of the expedition was a newly appointed dreadlord and bore a ‘writ of iron’ from Har Ganeth. This in addition to his personal ambitions and dedication to raiding the seas earned him a letter of marque, sealed with the Witch King’s standard.

Raveres could not have found a better sponsor to attach herself to.

She looked ahead at the cold and smooth waves and felt encouragement as the wind whipped around them.

Strands of her hair flew in the breeze and she took in the salty scent of the air before stepping closer to the captain.

The dreadlord held command over the crew and the mission, but as the financier Raveres was second in command.

Her status as a relatively unknown Druchii inspired suspicion in the crewmen, but with the captain’s endorsement she felt confident that any doubts in her abilities would swiftly be quashed.

All in all Raveres was optimistic about what was to come, and she couldn’t help but feel the call of destiny from across the waves.

…

The first week of sailing was calm and uneventful.

Raveres found in the ships’ Lieutenant a competent sparring partner and the two would train with each other using wooden swords on the main deck of the ship.

The training helped keep her skills sharp and provided some welcomed entertainment for the crew.

At the end of the first day Raveres noticed that she was the sole female Druchii aboard the ship, and that there were not nearly as many slaves as she had thought there was going to be and among them, there was but one woman; a brunette human, purchased for the ship by the captain to act as courtesan and companion should any of the men wish to pay for it…

This led her to be very grateful for her cabin having a lock and bolt for the door, though she had announced to the crew that if any of them so much as looked at her in a licentious manner she’d gouge out his offending eye and hurl it into the sea.

The ship was called ‘ _Witches Wail’_ and was a multi-decked human ship, captured and repurposed for the Druchii it bore large holds and several cabins; it was a former merchant frigate and Raveres was happy that the holds would be able to accommodate more than enough cargo to make good on her father’s investment.

The ship had four masts and Raveres was more than pleased that the frigate was able to make fifteen knots due to the streamlined keel and design of her hull.

The crew numbered around one hundred and fifty and was more than capable for what Raveres and the captain had planned.

Leaning against the quarter deck’s railing the female Druchii looked across the clear horizon with a mischievous smile.

This was the first time that Raveres had been to sea for days on end and she was happy with herself that she had so far acclimatised to the rolling waves well.

Any sign of weakness could not be allowed in front of the men.

The fact she’d never actually killed another warrior, Druchii, or even slave! Was also something that she was not about to divulge.

Everything about her youth and inexperience was going to be a dear secret…

All she had to do is maintain the façade… And they’d never know the difference.

Poking out from below deck a younger Druchii runner yelled, “Lady Raveres to the captains’ cabin! Officer’s meeting!”

She pushed herself off the railing and immediately thumped across the wooden deck towards the portal to the lower deck.

As she passed the crewmen saluted her and gave her a wide birth.

Entering into the captain’s large cabin she saw the captain pointing at an exquisitely drawn chart.

The lieutenant and first mate were shaking their heads as Raveres clicked her heels, announcing her arrival.

“Ah; the golden girl!”

The captain affectionately referred to her with some variation of such a pet-name.

At first she resented it, but by now she’d actually come to like the constant reference to her status as the money behind this whole operation.

“What’s the matter captain?”

The lieutenant answered before the captain could, “Well Dorath here wants to adjust our course last minute!”

Raveres furrowed her brow and quickly closed the door to the cabin behind her; it was immediately obvious that this was a discussion not for the crew’s ears.

“Oh?”

The lieutenant nodded and looked sternly across the table at the captain, “Oh…” he repeated.

The captain crossed his arms; “It’d add a few days at most!”

Raveres spoke quizzically, “Where would this detour take us?”

The captain smiled sadistically and leaned towards the map.

“Well,” he pointed to a roughly drawn charcoal line.

“From the stars this morning and our speed so far I’ve projected that we’re right about…”

He measured with his hand,

“Here.”

Indicating a stretch of open ocean Raveres naturally saw that the closest land was that of Ulthuan’s Shifting Isles.

“Let me guess…”

The captain leaned back and smiled.

The lieutenant huffed and the first mate remained silent.

“You want to raid one of the elvish towns?”

The captain nodded, “Aye…”

Raveres raised an eyebrow, it wasn’t the mission… and she didn’t feel like risking the wrath of a better equipped High Elf battleship, but…

She couldn’t be seen as a coward either.

“What are your thoughts?” she asked, looking at the first mate.

The grizzled Druchii rubbed his chin and looked up at the female.

“I say we take it.”

“We get ourselves some white sails, elvish clothes and it will assure the safety of our return journey.”

Raveres nodded.

The captain smirked in satisfaction.

The lieutenant held his tongue.

“We’re agreed then?”

The captain held up his hand and the grizzled first mate followed, Raveres couldn’t help but think the plan sounded strong… But she honestly didn’t know one way or another.

And her lack of confidence made her also raise her hand in agreement.

‘These sea-dogs know raiding better than I…’

She cringed, ‘I can’t risk their confidence now… we’re so close to our goal…’

The lieutenant looked at the captain, mate, and then Raveres before reluctantly raising his hand as well.

“Splendid!” the captain crowed, “Unanimity!”

Sitting up he made his way to grab a bottle of ruby port he kept beside his hammock and he grabbed four wooden cups.

After pouring each officer a healthy portion of the beverage he held his cup aloft and smiled, “To bleeding our financier Raveres!”

Raveres smiled.

“May Khaine bless her first raid!”

The mate and lieutenant repeated the invocation and they touched cups.

The alcohol was a welcome burn across her tongue and Raveres nervously began thinking about the coming attack.

…

After informing the crew of their new heading, the men were all encouraged with the knowledge they’d be blooding their blades so much sooner than they had previously thought.

At night the Druchii ship slipped along the dark and rocky coast, very few lanterns were lit and the men all maintained deathly silence.

The ships cartographer kept a watchful eye to the heavens and ensured that they were still heading for their target; a trading port north of Mistnar fortress.

When the lights of the town finally came into view the crew all held their breath as they began to imagine the spoils to be had.

“Make ready the ballistae.” The lieutenant ordered quietly.

“Adjust our glide, bring in the sails!” the captain hushed.

Raveres had shed her thick warmer clothing and was wearing a simple blouse under her cuirass. She followed the first mate’s advice and left off the rest of her armour; in a raid speed and surprise was everything.

Unnecessary armour and weaponry would only serve to slow her down.

Though gunpowder weaponry was not a Druchii specialty the ship was equipped with a few cannon left over from its previous human owners.

The rolling weapons were aimed out of their respective portholes and loaded with shot, waiting the captain’s order to open up hellfire.

Over the side of the ship two of the frigate’s lifeboats were readied and waiting to descend into the water.

The captain nodded to the other officers as Raveres and the first mate descended from the quarterdeck.

“We’re going to be going for any of the wealthy homes as well as town hall. Take anything you can carry and if you take slaves, make sure they’re pretty ones!”

The men gruffly laughed.

“May our slaughtering please Khaine! Let the arrows fly!”

With that the men all roared as one.

The cannons below deck fired and the ballistae bolt throwers above deck let loose their oil covered projectiles.

Raveres and the first mate climbed over the side of the ship and were followed by many of the eager and bloodthirsty crew.

The small boat descended into the water and the whole while Raveres held her left hand to her chest.

She was thankful for the cover of night that none of the crew could see her nervousness or apprehension.

Her heart beat faster than she’d ever felt it beat before and she could feel her fingers shake from the adrenaline.

‘Here we go…’ she repeated in her head.

‘Follow the men… follow the men, don’t make a show of it… it’s just like sparring…’

She laughed nervously, ‘Except; don’t get hit.’

The small boat skipped across the water as the reaper bolts and cannon balls soared overhead.

The men still aboard the ship fired their crossbow repeaters or maintained the ships’ position.

The town now echoed with screams and shouts as bells rang out in desperation.

The first mate yelled to Raveres and his men as they came closer to one of the port’s lower docks.

“Keep your spoils to coins, jewels, and that which can be carried! I do not want any of you idiots bringing a goddamn rucksack of candelabras again; keep in mind the weight of us plus our treasure! We will _not,_ I repeat, we will not be making multiple trips back and forth to the ship.”

Raveres nodded quickly and the men loudly agreed.

The boat came to the dock and the men jumped onto the wooden platform.

Swords drawn and teeth bared they sprinted up the docks to the nearest buildings to begin their work.

Raveres followed behind, her chest heaving within her armour.

Her neck sweat and her hand felt clammy on her swords’ handle, the excitement was almost too much for her as she realised; ‘This is happening… this is really happening!’

‘Whoo… come on Raveres! For gold and glory!’

Following the crewmen onto dry land Raveres noticed immediately her body’s natural compensation for sea waves was no longer necessary, and the solid ground below her feet stayed in place.

She nearly tripped at first but swiftly she was able to recover and maintain her forward momentum.

Ahead an armoured high elf night guard readied his spear and he yelled to his comrades, “Get the people out! The Druchii are here!”

Around him several guards and soldiers in varying states of dress and equipment came into view and made a line across the street before them,

Raveres could barely understand the high elves. Their language was similar to hers, but her whole life she’d never actually heard the ‘mother tongue’ or ‘true elvish’ and so it seemed like a comically exaggerated accent.

The crew men ahead of her were readying for the brawl and leapt towards the unprepared guardsmen.

Raveres saw for the first time real combat and the sound was like a symphony: the rough clanging of metal, the piercing of armour and the grunts and wails of men as they injured one another.

She began to smile and her hand tightened around her blade’s handle.

‘Now… I must prove myself! Now!’

She tensed and her feet twitched as she came alongside her fighting comrades.

The high elf who naturally stood opposite her in the two lines eyed her with surprise.

She narrowed her eyes and let her mind clear.

Raveres wasn’t about to wonder what he was surprised at, she didn’t care, and it didn’t matter to the fight.

All she had to do was parry that spear and drive her blade through his chainmail… ‘Ha he’s not even wearing a breastplate! Bury your steel in his flesh… baptise yourself… become a true Druchii…’

‘Here we go…’

Minding her footing and the fighting occurring to her sides she began teasing an advance towards the elf.

He at first backed up, but quickly began making short lunges towards her with his weapon.

Her eyes widened as she parried and dodged his attacks.

‘He’s faster than he looks! Damn it Raveres… riposte the cunt! _Riposte_!’

She groaned loudly in frustration, she was able to parry and avoid his attacks but she’d yet to see an opening for her to successfully riposte after her feinting.

Then she saw it, the elf misjudged her position and distance and he over extended his lunge.

‘He can’t recover in time…’ The thought raced and her body moved on its own. Years of dry training in her family courtyard had finally paid off.

She easily avoided his strike and took hold of his spear under her left arm while lunging forwards with her right.

The force she’d put behind the attack drove the blade easily through his gorget and the mail underneath.

She’d punctured his chest and a lung and he quickly fell to his knees; fear and disbelief across his clean and handsome face.

Bringing her foot up to his chest she pushed him backwards while simultaneously ripping her blade from him.

Her heart was beating so fast that she couldn’t believe that time was flowing as it was.

And she became cold in her limbs as a strange fear came over her, her blade was not giving way!

‘Come on, come on!’

She kicked the dying elf as hard as she could finally pulling free her weapon, but behind the crumpled, dead, elf a swordsman wearing a simple tunic and his long hair loose pointed at Raveres and sprinted towards her.

The crew on her sides were each locked in their own melees and she quickly readied her sword as she lowered into her practised ‘en guard’.

The swordsman yelled loudly and performed a fleche.

Raveres stepped back and raised her blade to try and counter.

She succeeded in narrowly averting death, but the swordsman collided with her and the two fell to the ground.

Straddling her chest the swordsman brought his gloved hand down to her face in a punch.

His face was filled with rage and he happily prepared to pound Raveres into a pulp.

The first hit collided with her cheek and pushed her head against the stone ground loudly.

Her ears rang and she struggled to move her left hand to defend herself.

The fall had winded her and she struggled to breathe especially now with the weight of the rocking and live elf on top of her.

She had to do something she had drilled herself never to do…

She had to let go of her sword.

If she didn’t she wouldn’t be able to defend her face and make sure the elf didn’t drive his blade through her skull with only one hand.

After letting go of her blade she brought her hands up and the two became locked in a loud and brutal wrestling fight. The male eventually got the upper hand by sitting up slightly and bringing his full weight down onto Raveres’ chest.

Though she was wearing a cuirass the blow still was enough to cause her to cough and lose her grip on his sword hand.

Her heart beat so loud and fast she swore it was about to explode; the elf brought his blade above her and was about to bring it down into her horror strewn face, involuntarily she began to let out a raspy cough laden scream until the swordsman was finally impaled from behind.

The first mate pushed the groaning elf off of Raveres and quickly extended his hand to help her stand.

Warm blood splattered across her face and she could feel her head pulse loudly as her ears continued to ring.

Her chest didn’t stop hurting and her heart showed absolutely no signs of slowing.

She wanted to be sick… she felt shaken and off balance.

Her whole body was in a state of shock, but she was caught at the moment, forced to maintain some semblance of control.

When she came to her feet the mate handed her sword back to her and slapped her face.

“Keep your wits about you! If you die your father will have us all killed!”

She nodded, though she couldn’t quite hear the mate’s words.

“Keep fighting men! Push the bastards back!”

Raveres leaned against the corner of the nearby wall and took a moment to regain her breath.

The few elf guardsmen who remained alive were routing down the street, followed closely by a few of the more zealous crewmen.

‘The… the amulet…’ keeping her sword drawn Raveres walked to the corpse she had made and quickly shot her left hand down the front of her cuirass and in between her breasts.

The amulet of Khaine was slick with her sweat and she had trouble bringing it up and out from her armour.

When it hung against the metal of her chest she descended to her knees and touched the dead elf’s blood covered puncture wound.

Wetting her fingers she quickly began smearing the warm blood against the talisman.

Under her breath she prayed, hoping to invoke the bloody god’s favour.

Mid prayer she felt a rumble of revulsion in her stomach.

She looked at the blank expression of the cooling corpse and she immediately turned to her side.

Using her sword to steady herself she began vomiting onto the blood stained cobblestone.

It was painful and she felt her muscles and throat burn, but she pushed herself up into a stand as soon as she finished.

‘Keep… going…’

She took several steps down the street and kept mentally chanting, ‘keep going, keep going, do what they do…’

The doors to the houses were being smashed in and the crewmen began their rapine plunder.

Raveres avoided the shops and the middle class homes and continued down the main street towards the large display of torchlight.

Rounding the corner of the street she came to the town’s empty market square. Ahead in the centre of the open gardened area she saw the mate and many of the crew at the doors of what she assumed was the town hall.

They were using a garden bench to batter the doors and the mate was ordering “heave! Heave! Put your backs into it you sea-dogs! Heave!”

Raveres steeled herself and quickly walked up towards the men.

The doors cracked in an awful sound and began to give way.

Sheathing her sword she immediately took hold of a side of the bench and helped smash the improvised battering ram into the door again and again.

…

When the Druchii finally left the town and began sailing off they had been able to successfully empty the town’s coffers.

The elves must have been preparing for something important because the vault of the white stone building was filled with coin and bullion.

Though the captain had ordered that they not make more than one trip in the small boats the Druchii were not about to let slip such a large catch of treasure.

They couldn’t believe their luck…

And as they sailed away into the night the crew peeled their eyes for any sign of pursuers.

Their previous objective of stealing white sails and elven clothing fell by the wayside when the avaricious Druchii saw the hoard they had ‘fairly’ won.

They now could set ahead to their original mission confident that they were blooded and surely blessed by Khaine.

…

The next day saw the _Witches Wail_ sailing as though nothing had slowed its original course.

Raveres, however, was not handling her first battle as well…

Sitting in her hammock she’d remained in her cabin since returning to the ship, but sleep hadn’t come to her and instead she persisted in a state between sleep and waking.

She’d wrapped herself in her fur bedding and shook while sweating; hoping futilely that the rhythmic swaying of the hammock would somehow soothe her nerves.

“I did well… I did well… I did well…” She would occasionally whisper when her shaking and nervousness reached unbearable levels.

She’d killed at least three elves that night that she was certain of… but the face which had burned itself most into her mind was that of the swordsman who had gotten the closest to killing her.

Each time she’d close her eyelids his rage filled expression would fill her vision and she’d be forced to open them again.

Her cheek had swollen and her face stung with tightness and pain; it was a powerful, constant, and frightening reminder of her very close brush with death.

She had stripped herself of her armour and her bloody clothes the moment she was safely in her cabin and its door was locked behind her.

She’d washed off the blood from her face but she had to reduce herself to completely bare skin, and her undergarments too came off.  They remained on the wooden floor of the cabin where she had shed them.

Since then she’d remained in her hammock, tightly wrapped in its’ warm fur. Her sweat-covered and sore body enjoyed the embrace of the bedding, but she remained oppressed.

Though she had taken off all her clothes and she’d even removed the ribbon from her hair she still felt covered in something.

And though she was exhausted, this feeling of being covered and the face of the elvish swordsman kept her in a tormenting state of formless anxiety.

On the deck above she heard the ship’s bell ring, announcing the beginning of the ‘day’.

‘I’m not going out there… I don’t have to go out there… Yes… that’s right, I don’t have to…’

Her thoughts immediately began to trip over as she tried to stay focused.

A knock at her cabin door made her hands shake and her legs twitch involuntarily.

“Lady Raveres? The captain would like to see you on the quarterdeck.”

‘No… no… not going out there…’

She remained silent, ‘I can outlast him… I can outlast anyone…’

Eventually the owner of the voice walked away.

Relief flooded her blood and she finally had a cause which allowed her body to relax.

The exhaustion and the weight all seemed to fall at once, and though it seemed like such a trifle thing she finally felt the embrace of sleep cover her.

…

Above on the deck the captain and lieutenant used spyglasses to inspect a small shape at the edge of the horizon behind them.

“Could be elven?” The captain asked.

The lieutenant nodded, “Aye… could be human too… we are approaching the trade lanes.”

The ship’s runner saluted and clicked his heels and the two officers turned to face the young man.

“Lady Raveres is still asleep sir.”

The captain laughed, “My, my! Still tired? Gods these nobles… a little bit of work and they immediately need a day off…”

The lieutenant smiled and immediately turned back to watch the ship behind them.

The runner saluted and left as the captain waved him off.

“We can outrun them.” The captain announced confidently.

The lieutenant nodded again, “Aye… but should they follow us to our destination in Araby?”

The captain pursed his lips and closed his spyglass.

“That’ll be all lieutenant.”

The junior officer held his tongue and saluted, “Sir.”

 ...


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raveres solves a problem, addresses her 'tension', and makes a hasty deal.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Two

“They’ve been gaining on us for two days!” The lieutenant rumbled.

“I know…” the captain groaned, “We’re going to have to lose them along the Araby coastline.”

The first mate bit and chewed a piece of tough jerky as he quietly nodded along.

Raveres had finally come out of her cabin, but she remained quiet and distant. She couldn’t quite explain it, but she knew that she’d be relieved and ‘normal’ as soon as they put into port and came to dry land.

Thinking aloud she found her voice and the three men immediately looked to her, “The Araby coast… are there ports friendly to black sails?”

She leaned towards the table nervously clarifying; “That is, are there neutral ports which would permit our docking?”

The lieutenant quickly became more hostile towards her and then the captain, “Oh and the elves on our tail, they’ll what… not just simply wait for us to leave this port?”

Raveres furrowed her brow, she felt ire grow in her chest, and her fingers tensed at her side. Having now killed she knew just how capable she really was, and if she wanted she could drive her dagger right through the lieutenant’s uncovered neck.

“I don’t appreciate your tone…” she lowly spoke.

The lieutenant scoffed, “I don’t give a damn! I said we shouldn’t have done the raid… now we’re laden with far more than we should have taken on, and we’ve got a determined elven frigate on our ass!”

Raveres saw a satisfying vision the lieutenant’s lifeless body hanging by his legs with his throat deeply cut.

A vision she could very quickly make a reality.

“Hold your tongue…” she warned.

The lieutenant stopped and straightened his back; he’d finally noticed her change in demeanour and her tense hand.

The mate also noticed the very palpable change in the air and he immediately attempted to salvage the moment.

“Cool heads officers, cool he-“

The lieutenant interrupted.

“Or what?” he asked defiantly.

“Will you fall over and vomit again?”

Raveres felt a stab directly to her ego. But more than that she felt a betrayal, three days ago she was close to calling the lieutenant a friend.

But now the wretch showed that he was a coward and a weakly constituted, pusillanimous, fool!

Her eyes widened and her lip curled.

She took a breath sharply and held it.

The captain raised his voice and tensed, “Hathan shut your mouth or I’ll have you clapped in irons and lashed!”

The mate sat up and dropped his half eaten piece of jerky to the cabin’s floor.

Raveres kept her breath in and stood silently, eyeing the lieutenant intensely.

Above the ship’s bell rang in a two hit rhythm and the acting officer-on-the-deck loudly announced lyrically: _“Fog a-head!”_

The officers remained staring at each other tensely.

The captain cleared his throat and sternly issued an order; “Raveres, Hathan, stand down both of you!”

Raveres finally exhaled and reluctantly relaxed her muscles.

Hathan scoffed and relaxed as well before quickly exiting the cabin first.

…

When the officers finally came to the deck they saw a heavy fog rolling over top of the waves, rapidly approaching their vessel from the port-side.

“This’ll help us!” the mate announced. Glad to now be out of the cramped and hostile cabin below.

“Aye…” the captain agreed. He calmly breathed and remained stoic, but he was obviously thinking about the growing rift among his two integral officers.

The mate continued, his voice deliberately tinged with excitement and positivity, “If we can maintain our speed, perhaps alter our course slightly, we might be able to out-manoeuvre these high elf twats!”

Raveres still remained tense and was not as optimistic about the fog.

To her something about it seemed off…

But she wasn’t a sailor, if the captain, mate, and even the coward lieutenant Hathan felt comfortable sailing through it then who was she to voice any dissent?

Looking past the captain and mate in front of her, she eyed the back of the lieutenant’s head. Thinking back to their friendly sparring bouts she felt an acrid resentment begin to grow in her chest.

The crew went about their work and the captain spoke with the ship’s master seaman while the first mate turned to descend back below deck.

Raveres brought a hand to her chest and felt her amulet of Khaine between the layers of her clothing.

She recalled her mother and one of her childhood lessons came back to her vividly.

…

“If any fool ever betrays your favour, make him rue the day he ever laid eyes upon you Raveres.”

The teenage Druchii nodded and followed her elegantly dressed mother through the halls of the woman’s solar.

Her mother’s dress was midnight blue and descended all the way to the floor, giving the older female the appearance of floating and gliding when she walked.

Raveres was groaning and petulantly rolling her eyes as she stepped closely behind the material of her mother’s dark train.

“Yes… I get it; those who insult the family are to be destroyed…”

Her mother stopped and turned around, whipping her calf length hair quickly as she did so.

Extending her hand she took hold of her daughter’s chin and stared into her eyes.

“We are Druchii… the mother of our people Morathi has given us many a lesson to follow, and there exist many more examples to avoid…”

Raveres froze and held her breath as her mother inspected her face.

“And I am your mother and you will obey me until the very moment I die…”

Raveres sneered under her mother’s grip and wanted to get out of it, but the tight fingers on her jaw remained in place.

“I don’t want you to repeat the words your father and I have taught you like a slave!”

She scoffed and spat to her side.

“Even a skaven will recite poetry if beaten enough…”

She shook her head from side to side.

“No… You are my blood. You are my child, and I want you to internalise your hatred…”

She nodded, “I borne you within me and each day I felt you grow. And now? Here you stand, formed into the perfect, strong…” Her voice rose as she continued, “terrible, beautiful, and dark woman you are today…”

The ghostly pale Druchii mother smirked, “Your rage, your pain, these will fuel your wrath.”

“Each slight, every humiliation, and any disgrace. Bear it…”

The woman let go of her daughter’s chin and placed her hand through the V of the younger Druchii’s dress.

The warm hand touched Raveres’ breast and pressed tightly to her ribcage until her mother felt her heartbeat.

“Here.”

“Our rage, our vengeance… these are our most powerful magics… Rage is itself the greatest of anesthetics. And vengeance is the sweetest of wines…”

Raveres nodded, “I think…” she began.

Moving her hand off her daughter’s skin the mother began gliding down the hall as Raveres followed.

“I think I understand…”

The mother laughed, “Be sure that you do… Harnessing your rage is one thing. Controlling it is another. To a Druchii woman it is her immaterial child… Only birthed when she exacts her bloody revenge…”

She raised a dark and thin eyebrow as she looked over her shoulder at Raveres.

“Vengeance and plots… these are children who require same amount of nurturing and care to mature. However…”

She laughed again.

“Sometimes they can be raised and put to use much faster than children from one’s womb.”

“Perhaps you will see a moment such as this… if you have the wits to seize it…”

…

Despite the distance and the years since the lesson she felt her mother’s voice encouraging her onwards.

She nodded and curled her lip once more as she drew her dagger from its sheath on her belt.

As she stepped towards lieutenant Hathan she brought her weapon up as her lips extended in a sadistic smile.

The male Druchii widened his eyes and began to yell while attempting to jump away from Reveres’ reach.

The sharp blade moved easily through the air and deeply embedded into Hathan’s neck. The steel was now concealed within his skin all the way to the hilt.

Falling away from Raveres coughing and gurgling loudly the lieutenant held his neck and painfully writhed as blood quickly poured out of the wide wound created by the serrated edge.

“Raveres?!” the captain roared.

Several of the crew began yelling in applause at the sudden violence.

Descending to her knees Raveres watched with a sneer of satisfaction as Hathan breathed his last painful breaths.

When the light finally left his eyes and his body naturally relaxed the female Druchii took a breath.

Reaching for her blade she pulled the serrated dagger from his skin and wiped the blood off the steel onto his tunic before sheathing the weapon.

The captain growled, “I don’t care if he was sour to you Raveres, but he was my officer…”

His voice lowered, but the deck was still quite quiet as the idle sailors watched.

“I can ill afford a renegade aboard _my_ ship.”

Filled with fresh adrenaline her heart beat loudly as newfound confidence filled Raveres’ chest. Standing up from the body of the former Lieutenant Hathan her voice deepened. Her body and tongue felt like they were moving on their own,

“As I recall, I am the one paying for the crew. I have the final say in whom we hire and who deserves what…”

The captain bit his tongue and his eyes darted to the motionless crewmen. Immediately at his expression the men went back to their work. Climbing rigging, tightening chords, and moving along the rails.

Raveres’ voice rose in pitch, and now sounded far more diplomatic. She knew better than to begin making sedition appear ‘vogue’ for the crew.

“Consider Hathan having been paid in full.”

Raising her voice she informally addressed the crew within earshot; “This sack of putrid filth insulted me, and dared to touch me in a manner I disliked!”

The captain furrowed his brow and crossed his arms.

“See him now?”

The crewmen slowed and watched her again.

Looking to the captain she bowed her head deeply and even gave him a small Druchii curtsy.

The captain looked at his men and felt somewhat satisfied, quietly nodding at Raveres’ display.

Looking through her bangs she slowly rose back straight.

Turning to her right Raveres pointed at two crewmen watching the situation and then pointed at Hathan’s corpse.

“You two, throw this trash overboard.”

The men nodded and immediately stepped forwards.

The captain grunted and added an additional order, “After he’s away wash this deck. I don’t want traitor’s blood staining my ship.”

Raveres knew she’d openly shown opposition to the captain, and there was now going to be the tense issue of power relations to navigate. But for now, the female Druchii was content at having taken care of a slight and having impressed upon the crew that she meant what she said.

The issue of Hathan had been rectified and in all honesty, she felt far more at ease then she had since the raid on the elvish port.

…

The fog had actually done its job and the elven ship which had followed them for three days was now nowhere to be seen.

‘Perhaps the sacrifice of the lieutenant pleased Mathlann?’ Raveres thought as she stood on the deck.

She smirked.

‘He turned out to be useful after all…’

The crew had developed a more palpable respect for their female financier, but the captain now maintained a far more cold and distant relationship with her.

His pet names and familiarity had swiftly been pulled back and he now only spoke with her in a tone of complete professionalism, and only when necessary.

The mate however kept on as he had before the killing, seemingly unbothered by the absence of Lieutenant Hathan.

…

After two more weeks on the open sea Raveres was about ready to go mad with boredom.

They’d passed a few merchant ships but regretfully had to let them go… The ship had no room for cargo or slaves not from their mission. And much to the dismay and disappointment of the men; heavy convoys of trade ships, visibly laden with treasure filled holds, would sail past them with increasing frequency.

Raveres didn’t need a map to know that they were approaching the northern coast of Araby.

The most active trade channel in the known world was between Ulthuan, the horn of Araby, and the southern coast of the human’s continent.

Standing closer to the bow of the Druchii frigate she watched the waves ripple a head of their wooden island, and the wind blew calmly through her hair and across her neck.

Breaking her thoughts the voice of the grizzled first mate loudly spoke beside her, his voice and sudden appearance rudely reminded her that she far from alone on their small wooden world.

“We’re almost to our destination,” He snorted and spat phlegm over the railing, “Though we’ll have to be on the lookout for pirates…”

The mate chuckled and smacked the scarred and rough back of his hand on Raveres’ shoulder, “We’re not the only raiders on the seas milady.”

Raveres nodded as she wrapped her fingers around the railing in front of her.

Though he was significantly older than the human Riccard and looked nothing like the Northman, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the brutish slave every time she spoke with the Druchii mate.

As such she tolerated his jokes, his low manners, and even his occasional endearing touches.

Without acknowledging his statement Raveres sighed and released a whine; “Why is it so damn warm?”

Her voice was irritated but at the same time playful.

The mate chuckled again and leaned against the railing, “We’re getting closer to our goal… If you’ve noticed, the days are also longer.”

Raveres furrowed her brow, “What? How is such a thing possible?”

The mate shrugged, “The closer we get to the middle of the world; that is, the point in between the two ice lands, the longer the days, and the hotter the climate.”

He smiled, “If you think this is warm just wait until we actually reach Araby.”

Raveres nodded and rubbed her hand across her sweat slick neck.

“How many more days of sailing?” she asked in a groan.

The mate pursed his lips comically and chuckled, “Soon milady.”

Rolling her eyes the female looked away from the mate and back out the starboard side of the ship.

“Your insolence annoys me… ‘Soon’ is not a number.”

The mate dryly coughed and mumbled in agreement.

After so long at sea Raveres was beginning to detest the ship’s food.

The lack of wine and fresh water also was also grating against her will. She would have been able to endure it a little longer if the masculine company wasn’t also so… bothersome.

The crew, on the whole, smelled; and their scents and appearances were in a range between revolting plainness, handsomeness, or even… like Quartermaster Volish; gorgeous…

Every time she saw the tall, muscular, attractive Druchii she’d long for the comforts of home, of her bath, the attendance of her slaves, and her romantic literature…

Occasionally if she passed Volish on one of the decks Raveres could catch a whiff of his unadulterated, raw, masculinity, and immediately she’d be put in an unpleasant mood for the rest of the foreseeable future.

Now that the days were getting hotter many of the crew would shed their tunics and work the deck shirtless, bare chests, scars, and muscles on full display.

Volish, like many of the crew, had quickly developed a tan, but unlike many of the pale Druchii, as Volish darkened, it suited him…

His hair was jet black and his tanned skin was complimented by the dark locks of shoulder length hair; giving him an exotic and ruggedly appealing charm.

The Druchii quartermaster had few scars, but one he did have was along his left cheek. It was a small dueling scar and when he smiled it creased in a peculiar way.

The most frustrated fantasy Raveres came up with was wondering what the scar would feel like under her tongue.

The first time she fantasised about Volish she felt pleasantly titillated at the idea of a passion filled evening with him.

Then she began listening to him with the other crewmen.

Regretfully she learned that he was duller than paint… and this revelation irritated her even more.

The frustration she was now feeling at the lack of homely comforts, and the fact that among the crew the best candidate was actually a pretty idiot had finally built to an unacceptable level.

Raveres needed some form of release…

At home, when she desired it, she’d bathe and have one of the slaves accompany her, in addition to the intimate company she’d have the slave recite from memory or read aloud one of Raveres’ more smutty scrolls of poetry.

Of course only a few of the house slaves were literate.

Often her bath partner was the high elf Elianna, the slave was also her first sexual experience and the two had since explored carnal pleasures of their bodies together.

To Raveres there was also something powerfully erotic about hearing certain words roll off the high elf’s tongue that could and would get her going…

At first her bathing sessions with the fellow elf were a simple; a massage accompanied by reading aloud.

But as she became older and the two women matured so too did the intimacy of the bath. Additionally the content of the scrolls would increase in intensity.

The erotic and soft touch of the slave against her body was satisfying and Raveres enjoyed the decadent luxury as her most private pleasure.

Remembering her father’s words against siring a bastard and keeping in mind her lack of viable male companions, the pool of those able to help with her ‘frustration’ dwindled to just her hand…

‘Perhaps… I can make do with the memory of home?’ she thought.

Swiftly, pleasant thoughts of Elianna came to Raveres’ mind and immediately her dirty desires reminded her of the only other female aboard the ship, and subsequently the only _real_ candidate for soothing her... ‘Tension’

The brunette human…

As she thought about the warm slave below deck Raveres tried to recollect the woman’s name.

Eventually she drew a blank and chuckled in surprise. The Druchii had so far gone the whole voyage aboard the ship and had yet to use or know the slave’s name…

Shaking her head she thought, ‘No matter… an easy remedy; you merely ask her.’

‘But… how will I be able to replicate such a bath at sea?’

She thought about the logistics of what and how she wanted her afternoon to go;

‘A simple bucket of soapy water could easily be secured.’ She nodded, ‘Similarly a bathtub or large enough wash basin was surely to be found aboard the ship…’

‘A sponge bath would be just as soothing as anything’

The thought made her breath increase in depth and her body readied in excited anticipation.

‘Okay then… looks like I know what I’m doing now!’

Pushing off the railing Raveres turned to the quiet mate beside her and spoke lowly. “I’ll be in my cabin should I be needed.”

She made sure to make her tone sound suddenly aggravated, as if she’d remembered something offensive. This act would ensure that her pleasures were not about to be interrupted unless there was going to be a good reason for it.

The mate raised an eyebrow and leaned backwards, “Aye… I doubt anything will come up, but if it’s serious I’ll let you know.”

Walking across the deck Raveres descended the steps to the lower decks and easily found the woman.

The slave was currently helping the ship’s cook prepare the nights coming meal.

Standing a few feet away, at the entrance to the small and cramped kitchen, Raveres cleared her throat and the human woman and Druchii cook looked at her.

“You, bring soap and all else that I would need for a bath into my cabin.”

The cook immediately began to protest in stuttered surprise, but before he got his words out Raveres cut him off; “Find another assistant, the slave’s mine until I release her back to the ship.”

The cook held his tongue and bowed his head.

The human woman stood from where she was sitting and she wiped her hands on her short and stained rough-spun trousers.

Her face was surprised at the sudden and random request, but she knew not to voice any opposition. She merely complied.

Her tunic was much too small for her and her pants had torn at the knees leaving her shins and bare feet visible.

The material of the tunic was plain and unflattering, brown in colour with a deep V neck, held together across her bust by a thin piece of chord.

Raveres hid her gaze before it drew suspicion, but she couldn’t help imagining the human’s exposed and nude body.

Shivering with expectation Raveres scolded herself, ‘Hold it… you’re not even in your room yet… contain yourself…’

Walking away from the kitchen and towards her cabin she stopped mid stride to turn and look behind her at the human.

The shorter woman stepped out of the dark and cramped kitchen and into the better lighting of the passageway and Raveres immediately saw why such a slave was aboard the ship in the first place…

The woman’s face was bright, her lips and cheeks were pink and flush with life. Her eyes were a bright blue and her body was pleasantly shaped. The skin of her arms was slightly tanned and she carried herself with a strange air.

Raveres had seen many a slave, even in her small town of Blacklight Tower, and some bore their servitude with dignity, others with resignation, some, and these lasted the shortest amount of time, with frightened wailing.

But this human woman… she acted as if she wasn’t a slave, and indeed despite her tattered clothing she had no bonds which indicated that she was actually the ship’s property.

Her walking suggested that she found her present circumstance as a ‘minor inconvenience’ at most, and Raveres wondered for a brief moment how long she’d been a slave so far. But quickly the hint of the human’s thigh evicted such thoughts.

Everything about the woman’s appearance spelled and seemed to announce ‘carnal pleasure’.

‘Perhaps she prays to Slaanesh?’ Raveres raised an eyebrow and watched the woman make her way towards the stairs to the lower deck. Before disappearing from view Raveres felt compelled to speak,

“Be quick about it.”

The woman looked up from the steps and nodded emphatically, her hair bounced as she then began descending with a hurried pace.

Raveres walked down the hall and into her cabin, doing what she could to remain calm as she imagined the pleasant and cool water on her body and the fingers of the human slave working her sore muscles.

…

The female slave carried the wide wooden basin back up the narrow steps awkwardly. Inside was a bucket filled with water taken from the ships reserves, a bar of soap, and a rough cloth she intended to clean her temporary master with.

She nearly fell as she came to the Druchii woman’s cabin, but instead the water merely sloshed out of the bucket and into the basin.

Speaking in her mother tongue the human whispered under her breath, “By Myrmidia!” as she regained her footing. “Come on Mariana…” she encouraged herself.

“The she-elf needs a bath…” laughing the Estalian shook her head and tried to imitate Raveres’ voice, “and ‘be quick about it!’”

Mariana stood before the cabin door to the Druchii’s chamber and cleared her throat before leaning her hip into the wood.

The door pushed open and she entered into the room back first, minding the narrow sides of the doorway as she carried the washbasin in.

Turning around she came to finally see the most mysterious room on the ship; but it was just as plain and unassuming as every other cabin. Mariana couldn’t help but feel a small measure of disappointment. That was until she saw the room’s owner…

The female dark elf was sitting on a chest by the small window of the cabin enjoying the warm sunlight for her reading.

She’d shed her previous attire and was instead wearing her undergarments; her chest was covered by an undyed light silken blouse, and her legs were seemingly bare, except for a pair of shorts which, like her blouse, was a plain undyed material.

The elf’s legs were crossed and she leaned against the wooden beam jutting out of the wall which formed part of the ships’ overall frame.

Her feet were above the floor of the cabin and she was periodically extending her toes as she rhythmically bounced her right leg on top of her left.

The bouncing made her right calf swing back and forth.

Mariana felt at first embarrassed to have so suddenly seen the Druchii in such a state of intimacy.

Raveres however, appeared unfazed by the presence of the slave.

Looking up from her scroll the dark elf raised a well-groomed eyebrow and watched her. At first Mariana thought nothing of it and went about her work. Quickly shaking off her embarrassment as she thought, ‘She’s a haughty noble… probably used to being served by slaves even in the nude! Don’t let it get to you…’

Placing the basin down onto the floor of the chamber she then lifted the bucket of water out and onto the floor beside the wooden basin.

Picking the bar of soap up Mariana wrapped it in the cloth and dunked it into the cool bucket of water.

Switching from Estalian to the dark elf’s tongue Mariana announced that she had finished her assigned task,

“Here you are milady.”

Raveres rolled her scroll back up and dropped it to the floor beside her.

Mariana bowed her head and turned to leave the room.

“I haven’t released you…”

Turning back around the human nodded, “Of course… I apologise…”

Uncrossing her legs Raveres stretched out both limbs and placed her hands flat on the chest below her.

“Close the door.”

Mariana nodded and wordlessly complied.

“When I said you were to bring all I would need for a bath I thought it would have been obvious.”

Mariana turned back around after closing the door.

“Bolt the lock.” Raveres ordered. Her voice was smooth and seductive in tone.

‘Is she… does the elf expect me to…’ her thoughts became irritated more than anything, ‘Oh by the gods…’

Mariana watched Raveres stand and begin to pull at the ribbon holding her hair in a ponytail.

‘She does expect me to wash her!’

“Open my chest and find my comb. In addition to bathing me I expect you to comb my hair.”

Mariana nodded and complied.

Stepping away from her trunk Raveres finished untying her hair and sighed as the thick white locks fell down her back.

Mariana stepped past the elf and stooped to lift the lid of the unlocked chest open, inside were a few silk sheets, a leather pouch, and some intricately carved wooden boxes of varying sizes.

“It’s in the black one.” Raveres helpfully narrated.

Mariana nodded and took hold of the only black box in the trunk. It was narrow and when she opened it an ivory carved hair comb greeted her.

“Would you like me to wash your hair as well?” The slave asked.

Raveres sighed as she stood over Mariana.

“That would be lovely…”

The human nodded and placed the comb’s box onto the cabin floor.

Taking a deep breath, the slave risked a question, “So… milady, how will this-“

Raveres raised a hand and swiftly silenced the human, “What is your name?”

The Estalian nodded and quickly answered; “I am called Mariana.”

The elf nodded and whispered the name to herself; noting the unique pronunciation of it.

“Well, Mariana, I will tell you how this will go: You will strip me, you will bathe me, comb my hair, and massage my weary muscles.”

Raveres surprised the human by lowering to her level.

“In addition, I hope to see what’s underneath these rags…”

Raveres extended her hand to Mariana’s collar and the human’s eyes widened in surprise at the bold and completely unexpected advance.

She naturally recoiled from Raveres’ touch and fell from the balls of her bare feet onto her ass.

The elf’s expression seemed like she was desperately holding herself back and she stopped her hands advance.

Mariana immediately came back to her feet and profusely began to apologise.

“Please forgive me my lady… I… I was merely surprised I… I didn’t expect… I mean…”

The more flustered she became the thicker her accent was.

Raveres moved her hand to press against Mariana’s lips.

The human immediately silenced as the dark elf’s eyes begin to examine her face.

They were uncomfortably close and Mariana breathed loudly through her nose as she watched the elf continue scrutinising her.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a human like you before…”

Raveres wasn’t so much talking to her as she was merely thinking aloud.

Removing her hand from Mariana’s mouth the Estalian stayed still as Raveres began running her fingers along the side of her neck.

Taking a lock of the brunette’s hair Raveres brought it to her nose and smelt it.

She smirked, “You smell of smoke, and salt…” she breathed in again, “And something else… I can’t quite place it…”

Mariana remained silent.

Raveres let the hair fall through her fingers and sighed.

As quickly as she descended the elf rose back to a stand.

“Undress me. I’ve spent as long as I can this dirty.”

Mariana nodded and quickly stood.

She noticed that her heart had been racing in apprehensive fear the whole time and upon standing she realised just how scared she had been of the she-elf.

…

Though Raveres said she felt filthy Mariana couldn’t help but admire the blemish-less and clear skin of the female Druchii.

The elf sat in the wooden basin and groaned with satisfaction as Mariana rubbed her now wet shoulders.

“Harder… there… dig your thumbs in!”

Complying with the order Mariana pressed into Raveres’ flesh and rolled her wet and soap covered thumbs into the elf’s back.

Leaning away from the human’s touch Raveres rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms out widely to her sides, the action was accompanied by a long moan before the elf turned back around.

Mariana nodded as she acknowledged that her task was nearly finished.

Raveres was clean… she was rubbed… now all she had to do was comb her hair and she’d be released.

The contents of the bucket had been emptied into the basin and the water came almost to Raveres’ belly button when she sat still. Loudly turning around the elf came face to face with the human and raised her eyebrows quizzically.

“Estalian…” she began, “do you find me pleasant?”

Mariana choked on her tongue, ‘what on earth?!’

“Uh” she loudly responded.

Raveres giggled and leaned against the edge of the wooden tub. Her breasts pressed against the side and she extended her hands to touch Mariana.

“No matter…” she quietly remarked.

Bringing her wet right hand under Mariana’s chin she used the side of her index finger to ‘pull’ the human’s head closer.

Mariana complied because she knew that she was to do whatever the elf desired…

She knew that if the Druchii wanted she could have her lashed, beaten, or sold in the first port they landed in.

They were just a few inches away from one another’s face and Mariana’s breath nervously became louder.

Raveres looked back at her and whispered, “I feel rather anxious myself…’

Mariana remained wordless.

Extending her neck forwards Raveres closed the distance between her and the human and pressed her lips against those of the slave’s.

Raveres closed her eyes and committed fully to the gesture but Mariana kept her eyes open, only barely participating in the kiss.

She was so nervous that she didn’t know what to do… Her heart beat so hard and fast she feared that Raveres was going to hear it.

When the elf finally finished the wet kiss she took a deep breath and leaned away from the slave.

“Do you fear me?” she asked

Mariana began slowly nodding.

Raveres sneered.

“Would you be more at ease…” she stopped midsentence and rethought, “How could I put you at ease?”

Mariana swallowed.

A strange feeling rose in her chest.

‘Independence…’

‘Hope…’

‘Do I dare ask? Do I dare answer honestly?’

She nervously stuttered and closed her eyes embarrassed.

Raveres moved her hands from the human’s skin and watched with interest, awaiting the Estalian’s response.

“I would be far more…” she looked down, and reopened her eyes.

“I’d happily offer my body to you… if you’d…”

Her hands shook with fear as she tried to make eye contact with the beautiful female elf.

“You would free me as soon as we reach port.”

Raveres’ eyebrows rose in complete surprise.

She leaned back in her tub and laughed.

Mariana felt a cold chill and nervous shiver roll along her body.

Fear began to infect her as she now awaited Raveres response.

It was a ludicrous request… and in all seriousness a horrible trade but the Druchii calmed herself before answering.

Sadistically she remained quiet and watched Mariana squirm under her gaze a few seconds longer.

“I admire your honesty human…”

Mariana tensed and gulped as she continued to wait.

“Consider yourself now my property… I will inform the captain that I’ve purchased you from the ship in exchange for my share of the raid’s spoils.”

Mariana felt somewhat relieved, but at the same time she didn’t know what it really meant.

“I will take you with me in my travels…”

The human watched Raveres intensely.

“But outright emancipation?” she clicked her tongue and put her elbows on either side of the small wooden tub.

“That’s stretching your worth a little too much I feel.”

Mariana nervously took a breath and stood up from Raveres. She’d made a resolution in her chest and her body and thoughts agreed, ‘I haven’t an opportunity like this again… I will be free… This elf _will_ free me!’

Her hands took hold of her tunic and she quickly pulled the tight and awkwardly fitting garment off.

Raveres smile dropped and instead her expression froze as she watched the Estalian undress.

Finding her voice Mariana spoke, “I bid my lady stand.”

Raveres was so surprised at the sudden stripping that she didn’t even register that the slave had insolently issued her an order.

Looking over the human’s naked body Raveres took a breath and enjoyed the round and smooth curves of the woman before her.

Mariana had a sizable bosom and her nipples were a few shades darker than her flesh. The light entering the cabin through the small window showed that sweat glistened on her skin between her breasts and along her belly.

The human’s skin was a unique colour, drastically different than Raveres’, and the elf couldn’t help but feel an exotic arousal at the nude sight of the unique pigment.

The human’s vagina was hidden by her dark hair and Raveres looked with interested surprise at the sight.

She’d never seen dark pubic hair before, her own was thin and whitish-grey like her eyebrows, and Elianna’s was as blond as her head hair, which gave the illusion that she actually had none. But Mariana’s was very dark… and Raveres couldn’t help but feel sexual interest.

The curiosity she now had over the hidden folds of Mariana’s womanhood quickly titillated her and she took a sharp breath.

‘I must see what she’s hiding…’ the elf thought licentiously.

Mariana’s voice returned, but this time with more force.

“I bid my lady _stand_.”

Raveres cocked an eyebrow but played along and slowly rose from the cool tub.

Mariana extended a hand towards the elf and indicated that she was helping her exit the wooden washbasin.

“You’re not making a good impression with that tone of-“

Mariana quickly dropped to the floor and brought her face between Raveres’ thighs.

The elf at first exclaimed in surprise, “What are you…?!” but instantly quieted at the warm feeling of Mariana’s breath against her skin.

The human brought her hands to touch the sides of the dark elf’s pale legs.

Mariana had played the role of ‘courtesan’ for the sailors, earning her better rations, and more grog; she’d even been able to hide away a small clutch of coins some of the sailors had given her. But she’d never been with, nor had she even imagined she’d ever have to ‘please’ another woman…

But here she was, touching and pressing her lips to the inner side of a dark elf female’s legs, a perverted, dark elf female at that.

“My lady… should I perform well, do I have your word you shall release me?”

Raveres had gone so long without intimate company, or even touching herself, that she ached to see a mouth so close to her body, and yet such a stupid price to pay in order to enjoy it…

‘How dare she even… think to…’

Her heart beat heavily as her breaths became shallower.

She was far too excited to even attempt to make a level decision and her natural perversions and desires began to take sway over her mind.

“You’re b-bold…” she stuttered.

Mariana slowly ran her fingers up towards Raveres’ hips.

The touch made her shiver and twitch.

“I’d do anything that you would desire of me… the whole rest of the voyage. I’d lick your body, I would kiss you… I’d clean you.”

She brought her bright lips to Raveres’ skin and the Druchii shook at the sensation and Mariana’s voice.

The human loudly smocked her lips and looked upwards into the elf’s eyes.

“You…”

Raveres closed her eyes and took a breath before opening them and tentatively extending her hand towards Mariana’s head.

The human removed a hand from the elf’s side and smacked Raveres’ away.

The Druchii’s eyes shot open widely, “H-how dare you!”

She raised the hand that Mariana hit and was about to slap the human when the slave’s expression changed.

But she had noticed the briefest of emotions; and just before Raveres turned towards anger Mariana saw that the elf had actually enjoyed the hit.

Before she was purchased by the ship’s captain Mariana had worked in a brothel. She’d seen inclinations of all sorts from men of nearly all races.

She’d seen the same expression on Raveres’ face before, and no matter how briefly it was present she knew she had seen it… and now she knew what she needed to do to get her way.

“You lay that hand on me Druchii and I will never lick you as you would want…”

Raveres immediately stopped mid action and froze.

“W-where is this confidence c-coming from…” the she-elf responded.

“Why don’t you sit?” Mariana’s voice became far more confident than it was before.

She was actually in complete control.

Raveres’ eyes and expression was confused and flustered, her cheeks became bright red as the dynamic between master and slave became far more tenuous than she’d ever experienced before.

Mariana ran her hands down Raveres’ thighs and tapped her knees.

“I said: sit.”

Raveres stood motionless for several seconds until finally; she slowly and nervously complied; lowering herself with Mariana’s level.

Her face was strangely innocent and she appeared as expectant as she was aroused.

“Now lie down.”

Raveres looked at the wooden floor of the cabin and her eyebrows rose in defiance, “There? But I’m still wet! My hair is wet! At least put-“

Mariana leaned forwards and cut the elf off with a quick kiss, ending the action with a light push. The human sent Raveres off balance just enough and her weight forced her backwards onto her ass.

“You can’t just-“

Mariana pressed a finger to Raveres’ lips and crawled closer to her new Druchii ‘master’.

“If you speak again I won’t lick you.”

Raveres’ eyes widened and she pursed her lips.

“You will communicate with nods, do you understand?”

Raveres’ heart was beating rapidly and her chest was moving up and down quickly.

She moved her head up and down in response.

“Good.”

Mariana moved closer to Raveres’ vagina and lowered herself into a lying position in between the Druchii’s legs.

“I can keep my word… Everything about what we do together will remain a solemn secret between us… However, I’m not as sure about you?”

Raveres began speaking and as the first syllable left her mouth she immediately covered her lips with both her hands, her expression one of horror. “I…”

Mariana raised an eyebrow and began to rise out from between the elf’s legs, “Oh?” she laughed, “Well it looks like I’m not your slave after all.”

Immediately Raveres’ voice took on a tone which even surprised her.

“Wait! Wait… I…”

Mariana remained still as she watched the desperate face of the elf.

‘By the gods just how frustrated and ‘thirsty’ is this Druchii?’

Raveres swallowed as she tried to sound not too pathetic.

“I… swear…”

‘She’s actually going to do it? By Myrmidia a little teasing was all that was needed?!’

Raveres gritted her teeth and finally said it; “I swear to do as you say.”

Mariana shook her head, “Not good enough. What will you do?”

Raveres nodded and wiped her brow and several strands of damp hair out of the way.

“Okay, okay… I swear to set you free.”

Mariana brought her lips close to the elf’s pale skin but stopped before making contact, “How do I know you’ll hold up your end of this bargain?”

Raveres huffed and ran her fingers through her hair as she began to really lose her composure.

“W-what would it take?! How could I prove this to you! You… you, insolent slave!”

Mariana furrowed her brow and immediately brought her mouth to Raveres’ skin, baring her teeth she bit and twisted some of the Druchii’s pale flesh.

“Ahh!” she yelped in surprise and pain, “S-stop t-that!”

Letting go of Raveres’ skin Mariana spoke and the elf listened intently, her chest rising as her skin blushed red.

“I want you to invoke whichever is your principal god, and I want you to make a blood oath.”

The Druchii’s eyes widened and she immediately held her breath.

“Y-you… you can’t be serious?”

Mariana nodded, “I am… I know how seriously your kind takes its magic, and your gods. That is the only way I will give you what you desire.”

“I c-could easily fight you, pin you, and take you!”

Mariana looked at Raveres’ arms and nodded. “Yes… but that’s not what you really want, and I know it.”

Raveres nervously swallowed and sat silent as she watched Mariana, and the human stared right back.

The human’s hands were rubbing the elf’s legs in circular motions and with each rotation they got closer to her crotch.

Once Raveres thought she felt Mariana’s thumb graze her labia. But she honestly couldn’t tell… She was so consumed with lust and expectation. The whole time the human continued her painful teasing, seemingly oblivious to the effect it was having on the Druchii.

Mentally arguing with herself and anguishing over the demand that the human had made, Raveres felt entirely controlled by the insidious desires of her body.

She groaned as she finally gave in.

“I… I swear I will set you free…”

Mariana smiled and kissed Raveres’ thigh before standing.

“Good.”

Reaching for the elf’s nearby belt Mariana drew the serrated dagger from its sheath and locked eyes with the Druchii.

Raveres’ expression dropped and she realised just how vulnerable she was.

What was more surprising was just how aroused she still was despite it.

Mariana slowly came closer to her and held out her left hand, while bearing the blade in her right.

“Give me your hand.” She ordered.

Raveres complied and slowly extended her pale left hand to the slave.

“Say whatever words you must to seal the oath, but I will be the one to cut you.”

The Druchii nodded and cringed as she felt the blade slit the end of her left index finger.

Throwing the dagger behind her Mariana descended and watched Raveres’ eyes as the elf, reluctantly, invoked Khaine:

“Dark lord of murder… hear my oath…”

She rubbed the blood from her finger into her palm reluctantly, “I swear that I shall free this slave and that I will not have tricked her in any way… May my death be bloody and painful; pleasing to you should I break this solemn vow.”

Mariana smiled and her eyes widened happily as she listened and watched.

‘It worked… it actually worked!’

Raveres gulped and nodded.

“I-I did what you asked… n-now-”

Mariana leaned forwards and began kissing her ‘master’ cutting off the elf’s obvious question.

Raveres’ body immediately weakened and she easily crumpled to lie on the floor.

She wrapped her arms around Mariana’s back and moaned as she finally enjoyed her hard-bought pleasure.

Mariana’s left hand ran along and held the back of Raveres’ head while her right slowly rubbed down the elf’s chest. Brushing past her left breast before running along her belly and stopping just above the wispy patch of Raveres’ pubic hair.

Breaking off the wet kiss the elf raised her brow as she anticipated the feeling of Mariana’s touch.

The human smirked and stopped her movement much to the Druchii’s disappointment.

“Beg for it…”

Raveres’ voice was whisper quiet.

“What…?”

Mariana tightened her fingers grip in the elf’s hair and clarified her order;

“I said…”

Tugging the hair she indicated her control of the situation once again, “beg for it.”

Raveres let out an involuntary yelp before weakly complying.

“I-I want you to… to touch me.”

Mariana smirked, “I couldn’t hear that.”

Taking a sharp breath the elf put a little more strength into her voice, yet remained mindful that they weren’t alone on the ship.

“I want you to touch me.”

Mariana surprised the elf by immediately pressing her fingers against the sensitive skin.

Raveres cooed and let out a small moan as the human’s fingers spread her labia just a little. Mariana then pressed her middle finger in between the damp folds and began exploring the wet and soft vagina.

The elf’s eyebrows furrowed and her facial expression contorted as she shamefully enjoyed herself.

Since she exited the tub and Mariana began to ply her trade, Raveres was moistening as her body increased in its state of arousal.

When the human finally touched her it felt as slick as oil, and the smooth, thin, finger ran along her entrance, from top to bottom, from top to bottom, several times. Occasionally Mariana would brush the tip of her finger against Raveres’ clit and it would elicit a muffled moan from the dark elf’s lips.

“I can’t take this anymore!” She whispered.

Moving her hands off Mariana’s back Raveres tried to sit up but was easily held down and in place by the human’s hand clutching her hair.

“Argh! D-damn you! Let me go!” she said quickly, “I demand release! Enough of this teasing!”

Mariana removed her hand from between the elf’s legs the Druchii whimpered.

“You’re going to have to say ‘please’.”

Raveres furrowed her brow and became somewhat irritated, “The hell I will! You forget your place _slave_ I will… never… say…”

The elf trailed off as Mariana moved backwards, letting go of the Druchii’s hair and descending to lie between her legs.

Comically Raveres’ resistance broke like a cheap sword, “Please…”

The word sounded awkward and hilarious in Raveres’ throat, “Please lick me…”

Mariana smirked and hid her laughter as she moved closer to the target.

“J-just… please do it…”

“I swore I’d free you…”

Mariana nodded, “You did…”

The sight of the noble Druchii reduced to begging and quivering weakly in want was more than satisfying to the human. And she enjoyed the view with vengeance as slave and master became redefined for the moment.

She came closer to Raveres’ pussy than she’d been so far, “I suppose I ought to show my gratitude?”

Raveres quietly nodded, her chest was rising and falling rapidly.

Extending her red and lively tongue forwards, the elf watched with sexual glee as Mariana made contact with her wet and wanting body.

…

Raveres was lying on her back, her hands touching and rubbing her own breasts, biting down on a makeshift cloth gag and moaning as Mariana was aggressively licking, kissing, and tonguing her pussy.

The human at first showed that she clearly had never been with a woman before, but Raveres’ desire and the eroticism of the whole situation was more than enough to make up for Mariana’s inexperience.

Bringing her wet and sex covered mouth from between the elf’s legs Mariana loudly took a breath as she watched her ‘master’ writhe around under her.

Moving her right hand from Raveres’ leg the Estalian began rubbing her fingers back and forth, assaulting the Druchii’s, brightly coloured, and highly sensitive clitoris.

Nodding at the switch of sensation the elf twitched and her breathing climbed as she approached another orgasm.

Mariana slowed and watched as Raveres began to calm down and relax.

Tiredly she spat the cloth out of her mouth to get larger breaths, and her hands fell from her chest onto the floor.

‘Out of curiosity… I wonder just how far I can order her around.’

Mariana removed her hands from Raveres’ skin and watched the Druchii’s chest go up and down as beads of sweat rolled along her body.

The human’s fingers were dripping with the elf’s secretions.

And she looked at the clear liquid coating her hand.

“So… the Druchii tyrant appears to have quite the perversion indeed…”

Raveres’ breath increased as she watched Mariana’s face.

“Not only do you more than enjoy the company of a female… but…” she leaned over top of the elf and descended to kiss her right nipple.

“You’ve got such a terrible taboo fetish…”

Raveres lip quivered as she quietly spoke, “W-what would that be?”

Mariana licked and circled the nipple with her tongue before continuing, “All sternness and control out there…”

With her dry left hand Mariana pointed towards the door.

“And yet… as soft as clay in here…”

Raveres gulped and immediately protested futilely, “I have no idea what cack you speak s-slave.”

Mariana rose from Raveres’ chest and her face became serious.

With her right hand she began teasing Raveres’ clitoris and watching the elf’s expressions.

“Open your mouth.”

The human’s voice was commanding and Raveres willingly complied, surprised at her own action.

Pulling her hand away from the elf’s pussy Mariana quickly touched the tips of her fingers to the Druchii’s tongue.

Raveres’ eyes widened at the taste of herself, but more than that she shivered with an erotic and positive sensation.

Mariana smiled knowingly and Raveres felt her heart skip a beat as she spat out the fingers.

“I-if you tell… another living soul… I…”

The human shushed and pressed a finger to the elf’s lips.

“I told you before; your secrets shall remain safe with me, so long as you remember and keep your oath.”

Raveres nodded. She felt somewhat shameful, having had her sexual proclivity revealed and so plainly identified by a slave she barely even knew! And now… she had sworn to set the creature free…

Somehow the whole taboo nature of situation made her at once, compliant and two strangely satisfied.

“Okay…” she finally answered.

“I…” she exhaled and tried sitting up properly, “I… don’t know what to…”

Mariana interrupted her with a kiss.

“Then say nothing.”

The Estalian laughed, “That’s often best…”

…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raveres makes a purchase, then ‘bonds’ with Mariana while the Witches-Wail runs into some trouble on the seas.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Three

In the two days since ‘bedding’ with the slave Mariana, Raveres’ felt far more confident and sure of herself. She focused on learning the more intricate aspects of being part of a ship’s crew, and the first mate began taking the far younger female Druchii under his wing.

The Captain, Dorath, had somewhat cooled down since the killing of Lieutenant Hathan, and ensured the respect and loyalty of the crew by promoting a well-liked and eager to please replacement.

To show that Raveres meant no disrespect to Dorath and had no intents on mutinying she purposefully developed a cold and impersonal attitude towards the men.

They feared her, and they distrusted her enough that the captain once again felt secure as the official and legitimate ‘leader’ of the expedition.

During the officer’s mess Raveres expressed to Dorath that she acted brashly and that her youthful passions would not go so far again.

The two shared the captain’s dry ruby port and no more was made of it.

Though Raveres was filling into her role and her current position much smoother since the raid, her only moments of awkwardness came when she’d pass Mariana on the lower decks.

The Druchii would surreptitiously avert her eyes and avoid looking at the human, or she’d loudly and scornfully verbally berate the slave, plainly indicating to her fellow Druchii her dislike for the woman.

Outside of these brief meetings Raveres hadn’t any further interaction with the human.

But she had made an oath… and though she was sexually compromised and in a semi-trance state of desperation, she did invoke and swear in Khaine’s name…

She’d sworn to Mariana that she’d buy her and make her, her personal property.

But since the human parted from the Druchii’s cabin she hadn’t received any kind of indication that Raveres had any intention of actually holding her side of their bargain.

In fact the slave was beginning to grow numb with fear and anxiety… She’d shown herself as still free in spirit, and thus painted a potential target on her back, a target that certain Druchii would feel nothing but pleasure in punishing the human for.

Though, despite her embarrassment and repression, and her cruel verbal treatment of the slave, inwardly, the pleasurable company of the human woman was never far from Raveres’ thoughts.

But she’d just smoothed things over with Captain Dorath… She couldn’t risk aggravating him now over a slave… could she?

…

The ship’s runner knocked on the door to Raveres’ cabin and she responded disinterestedly, “Yes… it’s unlocked…”

She was re-reading a scroll her father had written.

In it he, and her mother, had included several lines of advice as well as an overall declaration that she was never to forget the honour of the house, the legacy she was heir to… the blood she bore, and so on…

It was dry and tedious, but in a small, strangely pleasant, way she enjoyed it as a reminder of home.

The next day would mark the longest she’d ever spent away from her home, and though she was a fully grown Druchii, she still couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of melancholy at the vast distance now separating her from her childhood home.

The runner slowly opened the cabin’s door and poked his youthful, scruffy, and narrow face into view.

“Officer’s dinner is being laid out; ‘Captain wants to know if you’ll be attending…”

Raveres wrapped the scroll and nodded, “I will... What’s the meal?”

The runner paused as he recalled, “Uh, it’s… oh, it’s preserved Cold One, with a freshly made fish sauce.”

Raveres smirked, it was nothing like the food the family slaves cooked at home… but every few days the rations seemed to be better than usual.

She ‘mhmmed’ in affirmation and the runner saluted before leaving.

Raveres descended from her seat on her trunk to begin putting her boots back on.

Out of view she heard the door open wider and the sound of feet entering.

“What did you forget?” she asked.

Often the runner wasn’t one to miscommunicate a message, but there had been a few times where he returned to correct himself after relaying information of some kind.

The lithe and shapely body of Mariana entered into the cabin and closed the door behind her.

The unusual sound drew Raveres’ interest and she looked up.

Instantly her expression changed and her eyes nervously looked at the slave.

“Perhaps I should be asking you.” the human said.

“Y-you…” Raveres stuttered in surprise.

“Why has it taken you so long to speak with me?”

The human took a few steps closer to the Druchii and dared to furrow her brow, “You gave me your word and a sacred oath…”

Raveres stood up to her full height; stepping forwards as she straightened her back and shoulders.

“Listen _slave_ I will not be lectured to by the likes of you…”

Mariana’s confidence left her rapidly. Raveres was not in a mood of desire. ‘Perhaps I… I’ve made a mistake?’ she thought anxiously.

“You come in here, and dare to…”

The Druchii’s tone lost much of its edge; being so close to the human, and in a state of privacy, made Raveres’ ire weaken.

She shook her head. “I don’t need reminding of what I swore…”

She stepped past the slave and put her hand to the doors lock.

“I will fulfill any-“

Mariana’s hand shot forwards and wrapped around the dark elf’s arm interrupting her sentence, Raveres looked down with a raised eyebrow before turning to the slave.

Mariana’s face was flush red and her eyes stared unblinking as moisture began to collect in their corners.

Her lip quivered.

She wanted to say something, anything. But nothing came out.

Raveres remained silent and composed and simply stared back.

Eventually Mariana found her voice and sternly asked;

“What does this Khaine do to blasphemers?”

Raveres’ throat dried and her mouth pursed.

“What would happen if I told the captain you were disrespecting a… a blood oath, made in Khaine’s name?”

“I…” Raveres began.

“I’ll speak with Captain Dorath at dinner.”

A tear fell down Mariana’s cheek and she snarled, “I hope so… Because I’ll be serving tonight…”

Raveres exhaled tensely and the human let go of her arm.

“Do you know what Prince’s Crown is?”

Mariana shivered and stepped back from Raveres.

The elf shook her head.

Quietly the human let out a forced laugh, “Ask the captain at dinner… in addition to my purchase.”

Mariana’s hand went for the lock and she opened the cabin door.

Raveres somehow knew that the human had made a threat. But it was such a nervous and strange interaction that she didn’t know what more to say, and was forced to walk through the doorway and to the dinner feeling like a fool.

…

“Ah, Raveres!” The First Mate announced.

He held his wooden cup of grog high and saluted the female Druchii as she entered.

The new Lieutenant likewise saluted her fearfully and then the captain motioned towards the free seat to his right.

In addition to her, three more members of the crew made up the ‘officers’ of the ship.

There was alcohol and jovial conversation over the course of the evening; and though it was utterly beneath her station and breeding Raveres had become used to the coarse and vulgar manners of the men.

But with Mariana so close, refilling the officer’s cups and occasionally making laps around the table to show herself off to the Druchii men, Raveres remained quite uneasy.

Eventually Captain Dorath caught on and leaned towards his financier.

“In future I will make sure not to have the human serving while you’re in attendance. We’re… quite unused to having a female Druchii aboard and a noble one at that...”

One of the officers gestured towards Mariana and the human coyly played along, making the men laugh and loudly hoot and holler.

She sat on the man’s lap and he loudly began boasting of his martial accomplishments during their most recent raid.

Raveres looked away from the display and shook her head before responding.

“That’s not necessary…”

The captain raised a brow in surprise, “I’ve heard that she’s displeased you? Some of the crew have told me that you’ve been scolding her?”

Raveres locked eyes with the human and immediately looked away.

“Yes… actually. On that point…”

Mariana tried to watch Raveres and the captain as long as she could before returning to playing courtesan for the men.

“I would actually like to purchase the human…”

Dorath sat back and scoffed in surprise, laughing dryly as he took up his cup of port.

“Well… What for? I mean… what use would you have?”

Raveres thought about how to play this… what strategy to go with and how to succeed.

“As you said… she’s displeased me, an offence really; to my honour.”

The captain became serious and his eyebrows furrowed in concern, “A-as my property please, allow me to punish her!”

Raveres felt relieved, ‘he believes me! Perfect… he might just be willing then…’

Dorath continued; “I’m legally responsible, please Lady Raveres, we can have her scourged immediately, or at first light.”

Shaking her head the female Druchii raised a hand.

“I appreciate the offer, but my family would never allow it… These men… They’d talk of it, and how quickly would you think it’d get back to my father? I would relish to hear her screams… nothing would sate my honour more.”

The captain took a sip of his port.

“But… no one can know how she’s insulted me… And I’ve been taking my time in bringing this to you; I wouldn’t want a repeat of Lieutenant Hathan.”

The captain nodded appreciatively. “I understand…”

Then he shook his head.

“My… I didn’t realise all the considerations a noble such as you has to make!”

Raveres exhaled tensely and took a sip of her port.

“I’ve just recently gotten my Writ of Iron…” Dorath laughed, “Other than offending my sponsor I didn’t see just how many rules came with being a noble of Naggarond…”

“So you understand my predicament?” Raveres asked.

“Aye…” the captain answered.

‘Here it is…’ the she-elf thought, ‘give him your pitch.’

“I propose eighty percent of my share of the raid’s treasure to compensate you for the slave, and the rest to be given to assuage the crew for the loss of their whore.”

The captain put down his cup as he did the tentative math in his head.

He and Raveres had personally counted, divided, and inventoried the hoard of coins and bullion and he was happily considering the new division of wealth.

“I think that’s more than fair…”

Raveres nodded curtly, hiding her reaction. She took up her cup and held it aloft for the captain to clink his against.

“We’re agreed?” she asked.

“Aye, we’re agreed.”

Without any indication of it, Raveres was letting out the largest sigh of relief she’d had in a long while.

She’d succeeded, somewhat, and her stupid risking of Khaine’s wrath was postponed for a few days more.

…

After dinner Captain Dorath signed his tattered and water-damaged proof of ownership over to Raveres and the two drafted a bill of sale for the slave, signed by both parties.

After the men enjoyed the sight of her for a few moments more the captain formally ended the meal and the officers all saluted before retiring for the evening.

Dorath approached Mariana and she convincingly played dumb, even going so far as to drop to her knees and beg the captain to remain his and the ships’, anything but Raveres’ property.

Eventually he frustratingly pushed her off his leg and bitterly announced, “The sale is done! And with it I’ll be able to buy replacements, humans who _know their place_!”

Raveres walked beside the captain and grabbed Mariana by the neck.

Watching the force with which the female Druchii proceeded to drag her out of the room the captain couldn’t help but entertain a sadistic smile at how Raveres intended to punish the insolent human.

“May her screams satisfy your insult, Lady Raveres!”

The captain shook his head and thought of the highly inflated price Raveres, willingly, paid for the sake of her ‘honour’.

‘These nobles…’ he mused, ‘if they got rid of their fixation on honour they’d probably be more successful!’

…

When Raveres was finally in the security and privacy of her small cabin she let go of the human’s neck and locked her door.

Turning quickly around she exhaled and felt a shiver up her spine before looking at the groaning human.

“There! I’ve,” she reached her hand towards her belt and pulled the folded parchment out from the leather strap. “I’ve bought you.”

Throwing the piece of parchment to the slave Mariana excitedly grabbed the document reverently.

Unfolding the parchment carefully the human stared at the script on the page.

Raveres walked towards her hammock, “You can read?” she asked surprised.

Mariana’s expression began to drop as she looked up.

“No…”

Raveres sneered and reached her hand back to grab it from the human’s hands.

In a rare display of mercy the Druchii looked over the document and then pointed to the third name on the bottom.

Below her and the captain’s signatures, the captain had written Mariana’s name, making the transfer and sale of property legal by Druchii custom.

Though their legal precedents and ‘courts’ were subject to much manipulation and arbitrary rulings, when it came to their slavery the Druchii were unbelievably meticulous and stringent.

“This is your name…”

Mariana’s eyes widened as she followed the curves of the Druchii script.

‘My name…’ she repeated mentally.

Folding the document Raveres turned away and descended to open her trunk. Throwing the document inside she huffed and tried to relax.

Mariana stood and darted behind the elf, wrapping her arms around Raveres’ waist while pressing her face into the woman’s back. Tightly the Estalian hugged her new master in gratitude.

‘I’m actually that much closer to freedom!’

Raveres’ eyes opened wide at the sudden assault and quickly tried to pull the slave’s hands off of her.

“Thank you…” Mariana meekly whispered. “Thank you so much…”

Raveres didn’t know how to react but she stood awkwardly as the human continued to cling to her.

“Unhand me…” the elf said sternly.

Mariana let go and stepped back, rubbing her nose and nodding. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Ignoring the human and the situation Raveres stepped back to her hammock.

She was so flustered herself she didn’t know what to do now, except hope that sleep would provide her an answer.

Mariana quickly descended to her knees and began unclipping Raveres’ boots.

Wordlessly the Druchii assented and her expression and demeanour softened.

“You may collect your things and bring them here after finishing.”

Mariana nodded gratefully and after Raveres was undressed and at rest in her hammock the human left. Quietly stealing away her few possessions from where she’d hidden them in the ship’s kitchen.

Though she was consumed with optimism a few nagging doubts kept at her for hours in the darkness, until finally sleep came to her.

Curled under a thin blanket the human slept on her bedroll below her swaying master.

…

In the early twilight of the morning Raveres awoke to the sound of her newly acquired slave stirring beneath her.

She rubbed her eyes and looked towards the cabin’s porthole to see very dim light barely illuminating the cabin.

Stretching the elf stared upwards at the boards making up the ceiling as the vigour of sleep began to wane.

“Where do you come from?” she asked.

Mariana stirred again and quietly groaned. She too was awake.

Raveres repeated the question and waited. Eventually the human responded, her voice somewhat melancholic.

“My country lies across the sea… I was born in the city of Magritta.”

Raveres listened and tilted her head before rising out of her hammock.

Setting her feet down over the side of the ‘bed’ the Druchii exited and turned to look at her slave, slowly sitting to the wooden floor as she listened.

“There it is warm almost all year round.”

Raveres made no change in her expression, she merely continued to listen.

Mariana closed her eyes as she recollected.

“The city is like… a great horseshoe, built around a deep-water bay… Ships are constantly coming and going. From all corners of the world…”

Raveres followed quickly with another question, “Tell me how you came to be on this ship.”

Mariana raised a thick eyebrow, somewhat off put by the strange change in the Druchii’s demeanour.

“Well, I was bought by a captain… from Araby. He sailed back to his country and I was then sold to a brothel.”

“I worked there for a few years… and then I was eventually sold to your Druchii captain…”

The human smirked as she recalled the finer points of her journey but she kept them to herself.

Raveres leaned forwards and cupped her chin in her hand as she watched the woman’s chest move up and down as she breathed.

“We’re going to be putting into port at the first city we see.”

The Estalian looked back at her master and piqued up.

“I don’t know what the city will be… I don’t know whether it will be friendly to a woman from Estalia or not.”

Raveres sighed and began to rise.

“But when we do I will burn the slave register, and you will be free.”

Mariana’s face was one of disbelief.

“I don’t imagine I will ever see you again.”

The human risked a smirk and responded, “I don’t imagine you will.”

Raveres face was unimpressed, and her voice was deeper.

“Take off your clothes…”

Marina’s smirk evapourated. Until she got off the boat she was still Raveres’ property…

The Druchii stood and picked up her belt from beside her trunk.

“Before we do depart from one another… I will be rectifying something. And giving you a gift to remember me by…”

Mariana was pulling her tunic off when she finally saw what Raveres was doing.

Straightening the belt out in her hands she snapped it taut before whipping it to her side.

The human’s eyes opened widely as her heart quickly began increasing in pace.

“But… w-what you s-swore!” she stuttered.

Raveres raised an eyebrow and smiled sadistically, “Swore?”

She laughed eerily, “I swore to free you. And I did so in a… vulnerable state. A mistake I will not be repeating.”

She lowered to a knee.

“I said nothing about not hurting you.”

Mariana backed up from her ‘master’ and was now against the wall under Raveres’ hammock, her bottom jaw opened slightly in fear.

“Now, strip.”

…

The newly minted Lieutenant had morning watch and he stood at the bow of the _Witches Wail_ eyeing the horizon as the sun began to creep over the edge of the world. The night had been warm and as a result there were clouds of fog rolling across the water.

Some spots were thin, but others were frightfully thick.

They had just sailed through a thicker patch and now were in a large clearing between lighter patches of the smoke-like fog.

Above him in the foremast crow’s-nest the sentry yelled over the quiet ambience of the morning: _“Ship! Starboard bow a-hoy!”_

The lieutenant looked up to see the sentry pointing.

Following his finger the lieutenant drew his spyglass and looked afield.

Amongst the rolling clouds of grey fog he saw a vague shape disappear between two intersecting walls of the smoke.

‘Those may have been sails…’ he thought.

“What kind of ship was it?!” he called up to the sentry.

“Look’d a frigate sir!”

The lieutenant furrowed his brow and searched the area again with his spyglass.

Beside him the First Mate stepped along the deck and opened his own spyglass.

“Frigate he says?”

The lieutenant confirmed, “Aye.”

“Did you see it?” the mate asked.

“No… I saw sails, but it moved too fast for me to get a good enough look…”

The mate peeled his eyes and scanned towards their front.

“I don’t like this fog…” he smelt through his nostrils deeply, “I smell bloody magic at work…”

The lieutenant looked at the mate concerned.

“Beat to quarter’s lieutenant.”

“Aye-aye sir!” saluting the mate the lieutenant ran to the ship’s bell and began ringing in the ships’ battle signal.

The trumpeter on deck loudly began a reveille.

Loud groans and shouts began erupting as the crew began waking up and making the ship ready for combat.

Below deck Captain Dorath erupted out of his hammock and rushed from his cabin.

The ship’s few gun crews clumsily made their weapons ready, and Quartermaster Volish began issuing darkshard repeaters, as well as swords and daggers to the men. Quickly the crew were all armed and hastily running to their battle positions.

When the captain reached the top deck he announced his arrival, yelling to the mate and lieutenant standing to the starboard side of the bow, “Report!”

The mate immediately began explaining the situation and the captain began searching as best he could through the fog a head of them.

…

Mariana groaned in discomfort as Raveres’ belt collided across her bare buttocks.

The hitting wasn’t that painful at first, but as Raveres continued she began adding extra force behind her blows.

The stinging, pulsing, sensation in her skin began to climb in severity.

Raising the belt behind her shoulder Raveres brought it down as hard as she could.

The loud snap of the leather against Mariana’s skin made the woman cry out in pain and writhe to the side attempting to cover the area with her hands and escape the sadism of the dark elf.

With a perverted smile the Druchii watched as the human’s skin reddened and enflamed as her battering began leaving thin lines across the two smooth cheeks.

Extending her empty left hand Raveres caressed and ran her fingers along the deep red hits and invisible bruises that she had no doubt made in the human’s skin.

Mariana shut her eyes and a tear fell involuntarily from the stinging pain.

“A-are you… d-done milady?” she asked. Hoping her voice and her words were respectful enough to not draw any additional ire.

With a smirk the Druchii withdrew her hand from the humans’ flesh and nodded.

“I believe I am. But there remains one more thing I desire…”

Mariana remained still and silent as she frightfully awaited Raveres’ words.

The ships’ trumpeter loudly began playing and Raveres’ expression changed as she snarled, “What?!”

Outside the cabin the formerly quiet and sleeping ship began to erupt with life.

The sound of shouts, boots on wood, and the rolling of carronades and cannons ruined the tranquility of her beating.

Raveres looked down at Mariana, and the humans face was one of confusion as well.

“W-what’s happening?” she asked tentatively.

Through the door they seemingly received their answer; a muffled voice began shouting down the wooden hallway; _“Beat to quarters! Every man at his station!”_

Raveres narrowed her eyes at the door and groaned with anger.

A loud knock on the wooden barrier was then followed by a clearer voice: “My Lady! Captain says all hands prepare, you’re wanted at the bow.”

Standing up from Mariana the Druchii responded.

“Aye, I’ll be there.” Before the voice darted away she quickly added, “What’s happened?”

The voice coughed and cleared its throat as it answered, “Sentries spotted a ship close by hiding in the fog; the First mate and Lieutenant say it’s a frigate.”

“Tell them I’m on my way…”

The voice departed with loud footsteps and Raveres turned back to her human slave.

“Get up.” she ordered sternly.

Mariana struggled to her feet and her blanket fell from her calves, the Estalian was now nude and her curves stood exposed in the growing morning light.

“Dress me.”

…

Though she looked at her benefactor in a completely different light Mariana had to remember that despite what had transpired between her and Raveres, the Druchii was till just that: a Druchii.

There wasn’t any certainty to be had on future interactions between her and her ‘temporary’ master. But despite this she knew that the she-elf was still going to hold up her end of the deal.

Just how much more sadism and mental anguish she’d experience until then would remain to be seen though.

…

With the attendance of the human Raveres stripped out of her bedclothes and put on simple day-clothes.

The human helped tighten the elf’s cuirass, her right hand gauntlet, and fixed her sword and sheath to her belt.

The last things Raveres had the human do were to help comb and tie back her long, white, hair into a tall ponytail. As the human did that the Druchii applied a dark smudge around her eyes, the effect was a Druchii warrior staple; intimidation and allure in equal measure.

War-paint was something that Raveres longed to be able to wear, but until leaving home, she’d never been able to except in secret in her personal chambers.

When she finished the she-elf turned towards her cabin door and Mariana stood with her hands to her chest somewhat covering herself.

“Come here…” the Druchii ordered, her voice was smooth again and the Estalian reluctantly complied.

Drawing her clean dagger Raveres’ free left hand snapped forwards and grabbed Mariana’s neck.

The human’s eyes regarded the blade as she cringed and tried to fight the elf’s grip.

_“No!”_ she tried to yell.

“Silence.” The Druchii responded loudly.

Mariana quieted and held her tongue, terrified.

Bringing the edge of the blade over the human’s cheek Raveres ran the tip of the steel down the side of the human’s face and Mariana shut her eyes as she whimpered in pain.

With hardly any pressure the dagger cut through her skin and warm red blood quickly oozed from the short, thin, fissure created in her flesh.

Raveres licked the side of the blade before replacing the dagger in its sheath. Punctuating the action she let go of the human’s neck with her ungloved left hand.

Running her left thumb up the human’s wound she collected some of the warm blood and pulled her amulet of Khaine up from around her neck with her right hand.

Stepping away from the slave she began rubbing the liquid onto the previously clean charm.

As soon as she was free of her master’s grip Mariana brought a hand to her face and shuddered, whimpering as she backed away from Raveres and lowered to the floor.

With a smirk the Druchii finished anointing her talisman and let it fall from her hands to clang against the metal of her cuirass.

“You should be grateful…”

Raveres took the door’s handle in her grasp and opened the wooden barrier.

“More superstitious Druchii would have slit your throat or cut off a limb to assure their victory.”

Mariana gulped nervously as she felt her hand become slick against her face.

A surge of brave defiance made her find her voice, “Would you have? If you didn’t make your oath?”

Raveres took a step through the open doorway and smiled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know…”

…

“Lady Raveres! Took you long enough!”

The captain was along the ship’s port side as the expedition’s financier made her way to the group of officers.

The deck was bustling with crew as they stood ready; crossbows, swords, and other weapons waiting for anything.

“What’s this I hear: frigate sighted?”

The captain nodded, “Aye, Lieutenant?”

The fresh officer nodded, “We saw sails and a hull a few times getting closer to us through the fog! We’ve adjusted our course eastward but we keep seeing the blighter!”

The mate handed Raveres his spyglass and pointed through the clouds above the waves to the left of the ship.

“There…” he whispered.

Between the two Raveres had found a keen and helpful tutor, and she softened whenever she heard the mate’s voice.

Bringing the glass to her right eye she searched in the direction the mate indicated as the captain and lieutenant began talking.

Through the thinning clouds of fog Raveres saw a sudden flurry of light.

“What are those lights?” she asked quickly.

The mate’s brow raised and the other officers’ faces dropped.

“Hit the deck!”

_“All hands down! Hit the deck!”_

Raveres’ face became bewildered as she took the glass away from her eye.

The mate pushed his hand to her shoulder and forced her down as he screamed, “Incoming cannon shot!”

Then she heard it.

It was like the loudest drums on the festival of Death Night, and in an uncoordinated series of ‘booms’ each explosion was followed by another and another, each overtaking and covering the previous.

The flurry of booms was immediately followed by ‘whooshing’ through the air.

The hostile cannon balls collided with the _Witches Wail_ and began doing their foul damage.

Timbers split and splintered as members of the Druchii crew screamed and became injured by the flying shrapnel of wood shards from the ship, or if they’d be directly hit by the lethal iron balls ripping through the air.

“Bring us about! Let battle be joined!” the captain roared.

The deck erupted as the men jumped to their feet.

The helmsman began turning the wheel rapidly to the portside and the ballistae crew selected fire-bomb bolts from their munitions crate.

The ship presented itself to its still hidden enemy and the crew along the rigging began taking in the mainsails.

Raveres, the mate, and the lieutenant searched the fog for the hostile ship and still could not see it.

The ship’s cannon-smoke mixed with the unnatural fog and finally the Druchii saw their enemy.

The suspicion that Raveres and the others had was proven correct and the fog rapidly lifted as a loud magical voice boomed across the water.

“It was a spell!” Raveres roared.

The captain sneered and turned to his men, “When battle is joined I will give one hundred gold pieces to the Druchii rat that brings me that wizards head!”

The men cheered in response as the ship came about.

Their foe was flying a yellow flag and plain sails.

It appeared to be a galleon of some sort, but the ship was unnaturally fast for its size.

The Druchii ballistae began letting fly their bolts towards the target and the few cannon below deck began firing hastily.

The barrage was uncoordinated and quickly the men began firing at will.

Raveres returned the spyglass to the mate and the Captain waved the officers to follow him as he walked to the quarterdeck.

“They’re pirates I’m certain! Their yellow flag is not unknown to me.”

Taking position on the quarterdeck and observing the motions of his crew the captain took hold of the railing and continued,

“First mate you have command of the deck! Ready our butchers for boarding!”

The mate nodded and drew his sword, “Aye-aye!”

“These are pirates of Sartosa; they’re human scum who raid without thinking…” he grinned, “Sheep to the slaughter!”

Raveres smirked but her expression and confidence faltered when she saw the captain’s smile droop somewhat.

“I’ve never known them to use magic like this before…”

Raveres furrowed her brow and was about to ask a question when the mate on the main deck shouted, “Darkshards fire at will! They’re closing the distance!”

To port the enemy galleon was bringing itself alongside of the Druchii vessel and the main deck showed the scurrying human crew armed with black powder weapons taking aim.

The Druchii crossbow repeaters began firing and sending their hissing bolts towards the humans and Raveres could hear their human counterparts issuing similar orders in the own tongue, though the pirate’s volley was far louder than the dark elves’.

Smoke erupted as fire and explosions spewed from the musket barrels.

Druchii crewmen fell clutching at sudden wounds as Raveres’ eyes widened.

She’d never seen black powder weapons truly at work before.

Her ears rang with the noise of the guns’ rapport and she couldn’t help but flinch reactively.

“Raveres! We need to take the fight to their deck, close the distance and use our skill with blades to even the odds.”

She nodded at the captains’ words.

“I’ll collect our men from below deck and lead the second wave, you will take charge and follow the mate as he crosses the gap and makes the first advance.”

“Aye!”

Drawing her sword she leapt over the railing of the quarter deck avoiding the bodies of the writhing or dead Druchii she came to the mate near the port rail.

The human ship was now sending hooks and ropes over to land and pull the _Witches Wail_ closer.

Small bridges and platforms began appearing and laying over the galleon’s rails.

“Mate! We’re to lead a counter attack to their deck!”

The older Druchii grunted and took up a dead crewman’s darkshard thrower.

Firing the last bolts in the repeater he nodded and yelled to his men, “We’re taking the fight to them! Cross their bridges and put the lambs to the slaughter!”

The men who heard him yelled and drew their steel.

Throwing the repeater to his feet the mate re-drew his sword and growled as he looked at the bridges.

Humans in varying costume and dress began sprinting across their thin precarious bridges.

With a flurry and yell the mate ran past Raveres and skewered the first human to successfully cross.

Melee had now been officially joined.

Raveres clutched her blade tensely and felt her breath slow as she remained steady.

Many of the crew began following the first mate and they struggled to mount the human’s bridges.

It became increasingly clear that there were more humans aboard the galleon than Druchii aboard the frigate.

As the mate dueled with a cutlass wielding human along the bridge he was forced backwards off the thin wooden platform.

Falling from the railing the human leapt after the mate and would have impaled the defenceless and winded Druchii, but like the snap of a viper Raveres stepped forwards in a lunge and easily stabbed the tip of her blade through the humans’ loose blouse and into his chest.

Wailing loudly the bearded and hairy human stepped backwards and stopped as he hit the ship’s railing.

With a scream and a kick Raveres sent him flying overboard as she withdrew her blade from his flesh.

The mate hopped to his feet and nodded appreciatively before turning towards the onslaught of human pirates.

…

There was no opportunity to mount a counter-attack and take the fight to the galleon.

There were far too many humans, and the Druchii were locked in an intense fight on their main deck.

The volleys of musket fire reduced in frequency for fear of hitting their own men and instead the shots were being made sparingly by far more accurate sharpshooters.

In response the Druchii darkshards who were not yet engaged in melee tried to pinpoint and respond to the muzzle flashes but for all their efforts when a musketeer was hit with a bolt a comrade would pop over the railing with a freshly loaded weapon in response.

Raveres had been forced to back up towards the quarterdeck while the mate and the crew on the other half of the ship were being forced to the fore of the vessel.

The human fighters had succeeded in taking the belly of the ship’s deck and now formed two well practised lines with a stream of reinforcements continuing to leap from their ship.

The Druchii aboard the deck received no such support from below and the humans began descending the stairs into the lower decks of the ship.

“Send them to Mathlann!” Raveres shouted.

The men fighting along her side cheered in agreement as they maintained their line against the human’s advance.

Tensely Raveres disengaged and stepped backwards as an eager crewman who’d shed his shirt and purposefully carved the mark of Khaine into his flesh replaced her position.

Enjoying the reprieve Raveres shouted encouragement to her men as concern began to cloud her mind; ‘Morale will be the only true factor here… if we cannot keep our spirit then we are finished! These fools are jeopardising my legacy!’

Rage began to mount in Raveres’ chest as she considered the very real implications should they lose this fight… With renewed vigour she screamed over the din of arms to ‘her’ men,

“Push this afterbirth-scum back to their rotting hulk!” The men yelled in response and made and effort to show their resolve.

Raveres’ thoughts raced… ‘How can I better motivate them?! We’re losing!’

“Khaine is watching you fools! Keep at it!”

The fighting was becoming bloodier and more brutal as the free space on the deck diminished.

Taking a sharp breath and wiping her mouth with her left hand Raveres took a step behind a crewman who was successfully parrying and forcing back his opponent.

“Riposte!” she encouraged. The Druchii crewman slipped his blade under the humans and drove it through the man’s belly.

“Yes!” Raveres cried, “Spill his blood! Send him howling into death!”

The men became encouraged with Raveres’ faux religious language.

To them she took on the role of a pseudo Death Hag. And though she wasn’t, the men fought as if they were accompanied by a genuine bride of Khaine and subconsciously they knew they didn’t want to disappoint or show a lack of faithful commitment to such a representative of their principal god.

The crew were not the only ones to have noticed Raveres’ importance, a colourfully dressed human with a black powder pistol in one hand and a rapier in the other leapt out of the mass of fighting and towards Raveres.

She brought her blade up as a reflex but was hit in the chest nonetheless.

The man fired his pistol just a few feet away from her and she loudly groaned in pain as she felt the hard impact into her chest.

She stumbled backwards and several Druchii immediately jumped in front of her and the human.

Two men grabbed her before she could fall and they helped keep Raveres standing.

Loudly announcing her pain she looked down to regard her cuirass.

The lead ball projectile was lodged into the metal at the centre of a crater-dent.

She laughed as she saw the ‘wound’ and the men stared at her with concern, “Are you alright?!” They asked almost in unison.

“Let me at the fool!” She roared in response. The yelled encouragingly and as she moved out of the men’s hands Raveres committed a fleche as she aimed at her would-be killer.

The man dropped his empty pistol and performed an elaborate and well-practised parry.

Raveres’ confidence melted as she was forced to counter his swift riposte, ‘He’s a duelist!’

The Druchii and the human began exchanging an elaborate and intricate dance of moves.

Raveres forcefully pushed Druchii on her sides out of the way as necessity demanded and the man did the same to his fellows.

The noise of the melee around them began to quiet somewhat as the humans and Druchii previously engaged in a fight on the aft of the ship began watching the duel.

Dripping with sweat and brutishly leaping from side to side avoiding the human’s strikes Raveres began punctuating her movements with a loud growl, or guttural roar.

The humans to the fore of the ship had successfully driven the Druchii crew into the edge of the bow and loudly held them at swords’ length.

The humans who had descended to the lower deck likewise began to re-appear from the hold, swords sheathed and faces marred with blood and sweat.

Eventually the sound of musket shot stopped and the loudest noises were that of Raveres and the human duelist locked in combat.

Though she was a well-practised Druchii swordswoman and had been tutored all her life by professional bladesmen she was still in a lower class than the human facing her.

He quickly picked up on this and began toying with her.

Deliberately moving his sword and snapping strikes in such a way as to tire her out.

Sweat ran down her face and caused her black eyeshadow to run, the effect made the human duelist smirk and speak while they fought.

Though it was a foreign tongue Raveres knew he had insulted her and hastily spat a response.

“Focus on the fighting you jumped up peasant!”

The man pursed his lips and furrowed his brow as if he understood the insult.

Lunging to Raveres’ side he easily cut along the bicep of her sword arm.

She cringed and let out a shrill groan.

Taking a wide step to her side she now unwittingly presented her back to some of the human pirates standing, panting, along the edge of the port side.

The human likewise now had his back to some Druchii sailors doing the same.

The two sides began shouting various words of encouragement, or shots of venom towards one another as Raveres and the human kept at their fight.

Seeing an opening Raveres made a rookie mistake and lunged farther than she should have, overextending her arm the human easily parried her blade downwards towards the deck and stepped to her side reaching for and taking her right forearm in his left hand.

The Druchii let out a sharp inhale… ‘I-it’s over.’

Raveres eyes widened as she saw what was about to happen.

‘What?! N-no! It can’t end like this!”

The man brought the edge of his rapier to rest across the she-elf’s neck and she began panting as her heart thundered.

Sweat glistened on her skin and she looked into the human’s smiling face with terror.

The human crew cheered and aimed reloaded pistols and muskets at the exhausted and demoralised Druchii.

Raveres’ lip and chin shook as she waited the coming slice of her throat.

‘I’m dead… Raveres a seventh-born child and fifth-born daughter… slaughtered like chattel! Y-you fool… you utter and complete fucking fool…’

The man looked away from Raveres’ face and yelled an order to the humans. They responded and began moving, some restarting their fight with the Druchii while others began moving out of the she-elf’s peripherals.

In heavily accented Druhir, the man issued Raveres an order.

“Drop your blade.”

His voice was lyrical and deep.

But stubbornly Raveres refused.

He furrowed a brow and pressed his blade into her flesh; forcing her to move her chin upwards and make her neck even more vulnerable.

“You have fought valiantly…” he paused and cleared his throat searching for his words in Druhir.

“Your honour has been successfully defended.”

Raveres’ lip moved into a sneer as she maintained her awkward stance, “What do you know of my honour?”

The man smiled, perplexed. “Are you the king of this vessel?”

Raveres eyes narrowed, the human eventually noticed his blunder and shook his head as he chuckled.

“I apologise my lady, but my Druchii is not as good as my other tongues. We seldom join battle with the shadow-elf kind.”

“My captain is down below…” she responded through gritted teeth.

The human shouted in his native language to one of his fellow crewman and eventually another human walked into Raveres’ peripheral view, but she dared not take her eyes off her potential executioner.

The man pursed his lips in disappointment and clicked his tongue.

“Is this your captain?” he asked.

Raveres dared a look to her side.

The human crewman held Dorath’s decapitated head by his hair.

Raveres eyes widened and she felt her heart sink.

Immediately her muscles felt tighter, her lungs smaller, and her legs and chest burned with pain.

She finally noticed how strained and exhausted the fighting had made her and the knowledge that Dorath was dead did not fill her with hope.

The human waved the grotesque trophy away and the two stared at each other again.

“If it is any… consolation… My men tell me he fought beautifully.”

Raveres wanted to spit; she writhed under the rapier’s cold touch and felt a scream build in her head.

“Who now is in command?”

Raveres’ brow relaxed as she realised… it was her.

The mission… the ship… the men, they were now hers… and absolutely not in a fashion she had desired such a command.

The man clicked his tongue and smiled, “I see…”

He looked Raveres over from head to toe and then bowed his head slightly.

“Then perhaps as one captain to another we might share introductions?”

Raveres held her lips tightly shut as the man straightened his back and puffed out his chest proudly.

“I am! Annio-Luis Philipe de Bilbali!”

He bowed his head respectfully and lightened his grip from Raveres’ blade hand. There wasn’t any need to keep holding it: She was unable to move and they both knew it.

Placing his hand to his chest he performed a flourish to accompany his name.

“I am a captain, a renegade, a pirate, a sword-dancer, master duelist, and… gentleman…”

He smiled and extended his left hand to Raveres’ chin.

The elf cringed and tried to avoid the touch but he stopped before actually contacting her skin.

“Which is why I shot you my lady! I had hoped you’d receive a clean and swift death but now I am glad your armour was as strong as it was!”

Raveres remained silent.

“I’ve not fenced with someone as talented as you in a long time, and a woman too!”

He looked over Raveres again approvingly, as his men finished off the resisting Druchii and began pushing the crew around.

“I must tell you, you have a most skillful hand with the blade… But,”

He ‘tuck-tuck-tucked’ with his tongue against his teeth disapprovingly, “you’re far too brutish in your movements! That may work on the land, but here? On the seas you must flow with the tide.”

Raveres shook with impotent anger, not only was she defeated and remained on display in a position of embarrassing failure, but now she was being lectured to, like a child, _by a human_.

“My hand is beginning to tire…” he announced comically, “would you mind dropping your weapon?”

Raveres lowly responded, “No…”

“Ah! She speaks!”

Raveres wanted to roll her eyes but she maintained her angry stare.

“So… my shadow-elf lady-captain… I have given you my name? What might yours be?”

Spitefully she began to respond, “I am a daughter of the Patriarch Titos-”

He shook his head and smiled interrupting her, “ _Your name_ , I care not for your father’s.”

She bit her tongue and begrudgingly restarted, “I am Raveres Morthai of house Naguii.”

“Raveres de’ Naguii?” he repeated, “I am honoured to meet a noble lady such as your self… Though I hope you may forgive me.”

With a quick flurry his legs moved and tripped her as he smacked her blade with his and grabbed her hilt with his left hand.

Falling to the deck Raveres loudly grumbled, “You greasy peasant!”

The man took her sword in his hand and threw it to one of his men.

Then he pressed the tip of his blade to her throat and kept her to the floor.

The motion left a small nick along her pale skin and a few drops of her dark blood oozed through the tiny cut.

“I apologised Lady Naguii! But you were not complying with my request…” His voice sounded pained and lyrical.

“Now! As I said you, and your men, fought bravely! But they have lost… and we will fairly take your cargo.”

He lowered to a knee, “What is it your ship bears?”

Raveres held her tongue and instead pushed herself into a sitting position.

The man allowed her to rise, but he kept his blade still when he wanted her to stop moving.

“I understand your reluctance… but I must avow your crew’s fate rests in the balance…”

A fellow human yelled to Annio and he began smiling.

“Looks like my men have found your treasure!”

He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, “But they tell me your holds are mostly empty? Perhaps we caught you on your way _to_ a destination rather than _from_ one, no?”

Raveres exhaled heavily as she pictured the humans stealing the ships’ chests full of elven gold and plunder.

“Ah… say no more… A woman’s sigh speaks volumes.”

The Druchii’s expression soured and she began to protest, “I didn’t sigh! You speak nothing but cack like a fishmonger’s wife, or a lying merchant!”

A few Druchii laughed at her insult but captain Annio lowered in faux embarrassment, “My lady… you wound me.”

He extended a hand towards her cheek and Raveres angrily batted it away, much to the amusement of the humans.

Annio laughed, “Alas! If only we had met at a ball… I’ve bedded she-elves before you know?”

Some Druchii hissed at his insinuation.

He removed his blade from Raveres’ neck and stood up. He laughed loudly, “Afterwards, effeminate elf-cock could never satisfy them again!”

Several Druchii crew growled and broke out in futile melee with some humans again.

Raveres sneered as rage began to build in her chest.

‘I don’t care if he runs me through… I will kill that man… I will KILL that man!’

Annio smirked as he watched her face.

“My lady… if only eyes could wound.”

He flicked his sword and performed a graceful flourish before sheathing it.

Reaching her right hand to her side Raveres drew her dagger and hastily jumped to her feet.

With a loud yell she leveled the weapon and charged the human.

The man was cool, calm, and had expected the attack. Easily he avoided the weapon and used Raveres’ momentum against herself.

Taking her arm and tripping her again Raveres faltered and flew headfirst into the wooden railing behind Annio.

Her eyes fluttered and she shook at the shock of the fall and the immediate pain from the collision.

Disarmed yet again, and having been shamed twice, Raveres writhed on the wooden floor in embarrassing pain as her ego began chanting for her suicide.

Captain Annio kept Raveres’ dagger and pointed to his men, switching to his native Estalian he announced; “Decimato!”

The humans looked at the Druchii crew and a merciless slaughter commenced; the humans let fly a volley of musket fire and the Druchii in response lashed out with as best a defence as the morale-broken crew could muster.

At Annio’s feet, bleeding from her forehead and ringing from the concussion-inducing hit Raveres tried crawling on the floor as she coughed and sputtered.

Annio descended and took hold of her hair. Kicking her side he flipped her over and delivered a strong punch to the she-elf’s face.

Raveres tried responding with her own fists but her vision shook from side to side and her uncoordinated hands missed Annio and instead grabbed hold of his shirt.

The human easily knocked her hands off his clothing and stood up.

Panting loudly Raveres wasn’t about to give in just yet… she had to continue.

She’d been shamed far too publicly to die this way…

“I… must…” she thought aloud.

Rolling back onto her front she tried punching towards Annio’s legs and the human danced out of reach.

Seeing a broken Druchii blade within arms’ reach Raveres tried as best she could to grab the weapon.

As soon as her fingers wrapped around the hilt Annio issued a sigh and brought his boot down on her gauntlet covered hand.

At first the armour stifled his weight, but he then brought his leg up and down heavily until Raveres cried out and relinquished her grip.

_‘This is it… just… kill me…_ ’

Rolling the shamed and tired Druchii onto her back once more she clutched at her injured hand with her left and quietly began voicing her thoughts; “Kill me… kill me y-you foul scum…”

Annio raised a brow and lowered to listen to her weak voice over the noise of the resumed battle.

“K-kill me...” she weakly repeated.

In a very short amount of time Raveres went from haughty and bloodthirsty to painfully aware of her mortality…

The shame of her and the mission’s failure was so great her mind had emptied itself and death was all she could focus on…

She was filled with rage yes, but… her desire for redemptive suicide or merciful slaughter was far greater.

Her black makeup ran from her eyes as she began thinking about how stupidly foolish she’d been…

‘Of course your mission was to fail… you always were the weak link…’

Her thoughts began to take on the voices of her childhood and teenage detractors, demons of another sort which no matter what she had done, or who she brutalised they would never let her think she was any good at anything.

‘Raveres… she lacks the conviction necessary!’

‘Oh there’s Lady Raveres of the Naguii… lowest of her sisters… I hear she fancies human slaves!’

‘Ha! I heard her father castrated their male slaves for fear of her insatiable appetite and a possible half-breed bastard!’

The lies, the gossip, the horrible venom coated words of her fellow Naggarothi each felt like a stone cast at her heart, and it was pushing her over the edge…

She issued a plea and the captain Annio’s face recoiled in surprise.

_“Please, kill me…”_

Her voice was meek and low, her eyes wept but her mouth and body remained, poorly, stoic.

Annio leaned closely to her face, but she didn’t recoil.

She didn’t seem fazed and instead quietly looked back at the human.

He took her head in his hands and brought his tanned and moustached face towards hers.

Raveres was so low that she couldn’t muster enough against her resignation to death to try and fight back.

Annio-Luis Philipe de Bilbali became the first human man and first _man_ in general to kiss Raveres Naguii.

As if she couldn’t feel worse revulsion and disgust became the strongest things she felt next to her shame and humiliation.

Leaning away from her he laughed and called to his men in Estalian.

“I told them it was true, Druchii do taste like snowberries!”

Raveres’ mouth curled and she futilely tried to look to the starboard side of the ship.

Defeated with the greatest feeling of disappointment Raveres’ shuddered and let out a quiet sob; in the distance there stood the tops of green trees and the white caps of waves against the shoreline.

_‘It’s just there… you were so close…’_

She began quietly sobbing as she fought against her emotions.

Clutching her blood smeared amulet her arms began shaking.

Annio pursed his lips and stood up, before stepping away from the broken Druchii noblewoman his voice sounded honest as he spoke a farewell;

“Lady Naguii, I am sorry that chance threw our two paths together… But I was once in a position very similar to yours…”

Raveres held her breath and turned to look at the human.

“I had nothing… was left for dead… poor, broken, alone…” he nodded.

“It’s not a country for women or elvish-kind…” he laughed.

“Definitely not for shadow-elves… But maybe in Araby you may find another start?”

Raveres let out her breath and sharply took in a new one.

“I was once told, where there’s life, there’s hope.” He nodded, “I hope you can swim.”

Turning to his men he spoke in Estalian and two of his crew stepped towards Raveres head and legs.

Quickly they took hold of her and lifted her up.

Screaming and protesting forcefully the Druchii tried to escape their grip.

_“Una! Deo! Trea!”_ the men counted and on the third number Raveres flew over the side of the ships railing and fell, flailing, towards the water below.

She hadn’t any time to take a breath before she felt the water collide with her back and her cuirass begin to drag her down.

In Estalian Captain Annio yelled to his crew; “Kill them all! Burn the ship! Leave nothing of value behind!”

The order was met with cheers and loud agreement as the pirates put the remaining Druchii to the sword or bullet.

…


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raveres swims for her life and encounters two humble saviours, though she may owe her life more to one than the other.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Four

Raveres struggled in resurfacing as she clumsily and poorly tried to swim. Her heavy limbs weighed her down and the shock of the cold water stabbed her skin like a thousand pins at once.

Above her, back on the ship, Druchii were being thrown or desperately jumped into the water as screams and the rapport of the black powder weapons resumed.

_‘Where there’s life… there’s hope…’_

The words of the Estalian, though condescending, were correct… and the voice of Raveres’ mother began to echo a similar mentality.

‘You have many children of vengeance to birth yet my daughter… You are shamed? Bah!’

A vision of her mother’s tall and darkly covered body appeared in the water beside her.

‘This shame is nothing… you lost?’

Raveres tried moving her tired arms forwards as she kicked wildly below the surface.

‘I failed you mother… I… I wasn’t ready to leave home… I shouldn’t have left home…’

Her mother’s face sneered, “Silence Raveres!”

Though the presence of her mother was a product of her concussed mind she couldn’t help but feel fear at the hiss of her mothers’ voice.

“The Witch King was burned alive in front of the whole Phoenix court. He screamed like a woman and ran as his skin melted and bubbled like raw meat…”

Raveres continued kicking and swimming towards the sliver of land in the distance.

“Do you think he gave in and wished for death?”

Her mother began walking upon the water as if it were glass.

“He hurt… and he wailed and he wept… but he lives still… He endures _still._ What that human spoke is the truth… Where there’s life there’s hope.”

She laughed and threw her head back.

“And you yet live…”

She began disappearing from view as Raveres coughed and sputtered sea-water.

‘I yet live…’ she repeated.

_‘I live…’_

She thought about home, her parents, and the glory of her triumphant return…

A triumph she’d make into a reality…

‘I’ll out do them all…’

She kicked harder and though her arms stung and burned she cut them through the water as if she were punching the life from the human Annio…

‘I… live…’

Behind her the ship began cracking and erupting with flame.

Stealing a glance over her shoulder she saw that the pirates had set the ship alight and were now sailing away.

Several figures waved to her and among them a woman who stood beside the colourful Captain Annio.

Raveres spat the water from her mouth and continued cutting the water as she swam ahead.

The land seemed closer, but at the same time the distance was so vast…

She focused on her pain, on the humiliation and shame she’d received, her foolishness, her brashness, her youth and inexperience.

_‘Never… again…’_

She kept swimming and kicking, chanting as she took in breaths over the water and pushed as hard as she could.

She was bobbing like a cork in a great bowl… Waves sloshed around her and the crests of a few doused her head in water, trying to bring her under.

Defiantly she began chanting, ‘I live… I live… _I live!_ ’

Fighting madly against the waves Raveres kept swimming, holding on to the promise of a land seemingly so close.

…

“Sir Jean! We missed it!” an eager squire excitedly yelled to his master as he mounted a sandbar on the lush Araby coast.

“Eh? What boy?” His aged knightly companion was several feet away and tying their horses to the trunk of a palm tree.

“The ships! We missed their battle!”

The knight scoffed, “Ships throwing things at each other is not a battle…”

He laughed, “Nothing can be called a battle unless at least one knight is present!”

The squire smiled as he looked out to the sinking and fire covered wreck of the dark-sail ship.

“Must have been pirates Sir Jean. They’ve set their prey alight and blown the powder magazine.”

The knight held his hand to his swords hilt and huffed as he began climbing the sand hill his squire was atop.

When he reached the crest he nodded, “I think you may just be right boy.”

“Oh… look son…”

The knight pointed to shapes in the waves.

“Poor sods didn’t make it…”

Some bodies were floating in the water as the white tide brought them closer to the land.

Among the bodies were boards, barrels, and other floating debris.

The squire and knight quietly and solemnly watched for a few seconds before the young boy covered his eyes with a hand and squinted against the glare of the sun.

“Sir Jean! I think I see one still alive!”

The knight shook his head; though he was old his eyesight hadn’t failed him completely.

“Moving from the motion of the water my boy… This cutthroat lot don’t leave survivors.”

The squire descended from the sandy hill and moved a few yards closer to the water.

“Boy! Be careful!”

The knight slowly followed after his charge and groaned under the weight of his mail armour and tabard.

He looked up from the sand and saw the body that his squire was indicating. One of the corpses floating towards the shore did indeed look like it had purposeful movement.

“Are they men? The ship looked like it was from an imperial province… But it could easily be a green-skin.”

The squire moved forwards a little more.

“It looks like men sir!”

The knight’s eyes opened, “Well then in the Lady’s name we must aid them!”

The squire nodded and at his masters signal he ran towards where the body appeared to heading.

As the boy approached the surf he stopped and took off his boots. Throwing the ill-fitting footwear behind him he rolled up the legs of his pants and took off his sword-belt, tabard, and tunic.

Shirtless and shoeless the boy charged into the water and as fast as he could towards the body.

His aged master yelled encouragement as he remained watching on the shore.

Under his breath the youth allowed himself some sense of triumph for his knightly act, “I’m a hero! Ha! I wonder if Gilles ever saved a drowning crew?”

The boy’s excitement began to fail as he got closer to the body.

Its movement had stopped and he saw that the person had long white hair.

“My goodness it’s an elder!”

Visions of chivalric duty and his lessons from Sir Jean spurred him on and he quickly shot his hands into the water under the old man’s body.

In flipping the body over the boy prayed that he wasn’t about to see the horrifying and frightening face of a corpse.

Pushing off the sandy floor he used all his might to flip the armoured body around.

‘They need to breathe! Get their face out of the water you fool!’

When the face of the person turned he saw that it was actually that of a very beautiful, young woman’s.

Yet her hair was white!

He was so surprised by the revelation that he let her slip through his hands and sink below the surface.

“Oh no!” he yelled.

Bringing the woman back out of the water he began dragging her backwards. The boy was straining loudly and groaning as her weight became less shared by the water and more dependent on him.

“Well boy! Is it a man or foul beast?”

The squire began pulling the body onto the shore and lowered her down carefully.

“It’s a woman!” he responded.

The elder knight immediately began hastily walking towards the squire and the body.

“I think she lives but her lungs are no doubt filled with water!”

Hastily trying to unbuckle her cuirass the squire struggled with the tight leather straps.

Seeing his efforts the knight Sir Jean pulled a small knife from his belt, “Here boy!”

Tossing the blade the squire easily caught it midair and pushed the sharp edge in-between the leather and the metal.

Cutting the straps the squire pulled the metal armour off the woman’s chest and threw it to her side.

Apprehensively he regarded her wet and somewhat exposed bosom.

“It’s fine boy! Do as I have taught you, push the lust from your mind and save the innocent’s life!”

He nodded and quickly complied, “Right!”

Pressing his hands to the centre of her chest and between her breasts the squire began pushing down on her ribs.

“That’s it!” the knight nodded. “Keep going boy…”

“Now, give her the kiss of life…”

The squire nervously nodded, “I… right…”

The knight’s voice became stern, “Now boy!”

Moving his lips against hers, the boy pushed air into her mouth as he had been taught to.

“Now the chest!”

Returning his hands between her breasts the boy began pushing again, counting aloud as he did so.

Reaching the count of fifteen the woman began convulsing and coughing before vomiting water.

“Roll her to her side!”

The squire nodded and immediately pushed her to the side, off the back part of her cuirass as she began loudly coughing and vomiting water.

Her eyes fluttered open as she shook and convulsed, loudly pouring seawater from her lips.

The shaking made her hair move off her ear to reveal its longer shape, pointed tip, and glittering piercings.

The knights’ excitement at the success of his student slowly soured as the squire announced, “She’s an elf!”

“It’s okay boy… you’ve saved her life… There’s nothing to fear.”

The squire looked up and nodded, “Right…”

“You aided a creature in need; which is noble no matter what.”

The elf groaned and whimpered deliriously extending her right, gauntlet covered, hand towards the knight’s foot.

She began speaking and the squire lowered to take hold of her left hand comfortingly.

At first the knight was about to descend and take up her right hand in his grasp like his squire.

But then he realised…

She wasn’t speaking the language of the elves of Ulthuan… and she wasn’t an elf of the wood.

His expression changed and he looked below her face.

At the end of a black cord around her neck was a talisman in the shape of a symbol. Sir Jean recognised it as a piece of black magic.

‘Her white hair? Her strange speech? She’s a wretched dark-elf!’

“Jacque! Step away from this foul creature!”

The squire looked up at his master with fright in his eyes, “Why milord?”

The knight gripped his blade and his legs bent.

Jacque rose and immediately threw himself over the weakly breathing and mumbling she-elf.

“No! Sir Jean! We are knights! Pledged to rescue and aid the poor, the downtrodden, and the misfortunate!”

“Move off the beast boy, she’s a witch from the frozen lands across the sea!”

“Non! I will not Sir Jean!”

The knight furrowed his brow in confusion as he and his squire stared at each other tensely.

The boy’s lip quivered as he continued to defy his master.

“I saved her… I cannot allow a drowned person to survive the cold waters only to be slain without mercy!”

The knight’s tired face relented and he relaxed his arms reluctantly, letting go of his sword.

He didn’t have the energy in his heart to really fight anymore, especially with the ones he loved.

The squire boy Jacque was his charge and he couldn’t bring himself to truly scold or mistreat him.

“I’m sorry Sir Jean… but it’d be a sin…”

The knight stepped forwards and lowered to Jacque’s level.

“Your heart is too pure for this world my boy…”

The young lad somewhat relaxed and moved back from overtop of the waterlogged elf.

She was continuing to deliriously whisper.

Her eyes were shut now and she shivered, chattering loudly in between the occasional elven word.

“She doesn’t appear a witch Sir Jean…”

The boy sat beside her and reached for her left hand again.

“Witches are old and she looks so young. Though her hair is white…”

The knight took a deep breath and stood.

“I’ll help you carry her over there.”

Pointing towards the clutch of trees he’d tied the horses to the knight continued.

“She needs to be taken out of those clothes and put near a fire.”

Jacque looked up at his master as his cheeks reddened.

“You’ve saved her from the waters and from my steel… You wouldn’t want her to succumb to the elements would you?”

Jacque looked down at the limp arm in his hands and shook his head wordlessly.

“Well then.” The knight huffed and came to her head.

“Come on… You take her legs… they’re lighter.”

…

Jacque argued that the bonds were not necessary, but it was a fight Sir Jean was not about to concede.

The elf was bound around her wrists and her ankles after Sir Jean removed her wet clothing…

Jacque built a fire underneath the shade of the palms and additional flora neither Breton knew to call by name.

The knight ordered the boy to look away and shield his eyes while he removed the she-elf’s soaked clothes. The squire was supposed to unpacked and bring their camp from off their horses’ backs.

But the boy was young… and he was curious… and she was beautiful.

Jacque could see that her right arm had been cut somewhat deeply, and there were several nicks along her neck. Additionally her right cheek was swollen and bruised; she’d been hit, hard…

Her eyes remained closed while they moved her and now even though she was being undressed she appeared as if she were simply sleeping.

The elder knight proceeded in his work with a clinical regard for her flesh, and a complete control over his own body.

He was past the point when the sight of a bare maiden would or could lead him to ruin…

Seeing Sir Jean pull her blouse from over her head was the part that Jacque was most interested in, and he nearly missed it.

Pulling his cloth bed roll from the horses’ pack he handed it to the knight who then unfurled it and carefully laid the elf over top of.

The boy paused and watched for a brief moment over Sir Jean’s shoulder. Her shallow breaths now looked so weak it was as if she was deathly ill.

Her breasts were strange to Jacque and he couldn’t help but stare at their pale flesh and lightly coloured nipples.

The knight, sensing the boys’ gaze, turned and scolded his squire’s boyish curiosity, “Jacque! Shut your eyes, you creature!”

The boy darted his view away and he continued to unload their packs from their steeds.

The knight would have chuckled but the serious prospect of the she-elf dying sapped his appreciation for anything comedic.

…

Sir Jean wrapped the elf in his thick blanket and the two Bretons lit a small fire.

The boy kept his eyes aimed at the ground but every now and then he looked over at the sleeping she-elf.

“Is she going to die Sir Jean?” he finally asked.

The knight poked the kindling with a piece of bark and shook his head, “No… she may take a while to recover. But she’ll live.”

“Should we check the others?”

The knight looked at his squire and then the bundled elf.

With her legs and arms bound, in addition to her weak and delirious state, he had nothing to fear from her.

“Oui… we’ll see if there are any others living…”

…

They waited and watched, checking the bodies that came up along the shore for almost two hours.

None were living. Some were humans, ‘Estalians by the looks of them’ Sir Jean said. But the majority were dark-elves.

Jacque asked the elder knight what the difference was as they solemnly made their way back to their fire.

“Long ago there was only the one race… But they had a sundering and divided into three.”

The knight took a deep breath as they came over the sand bar and into the shade of the small thicket.

“There are the high elves from Ulthuan; they trade often with us Bretons. The second group; the wood elves, they keep to themselves mostly, and then…” he pointed to the still sleeping white haired she-elf.

“There are the dark-elves.”

The boy looked at the barely moving figure under the blanket and nodded.

The knight unclipped his belt and took off his sword before sitting down. Changing the subject Sir Jean declared, “You know boy… from all this excitement we’ve neglected to break our fast!”

The boy smiled and began opening their bag of rations.

“What shall we have Sir Jean?”

“Well I dare say we have some sausages left? Perhaps some apples too, but I swear boy if I have any more dates… I’ll be fit to burst I’m telling you.”

The squire smiled and pulled out a small iron pan.

“Should I feed the horses too?”

The knight wordlessly nodded.

…

Fluttering her eyes open Raveres came to consciousness from the sound and smell of cooking food.

Her throat was dry and her arms ached.

She groggily began thinking, ‘I live?’

Blinking she looked upwards to see palms overhead and a blue sky beyond their green leaves.

“I… I’m alive?” she asked.

She noticed that she was wrapped in a blanket and that rather than being cold she was warm, actually pleasantly so…

Beside her was the familiar crackling of a fire and then the searing of meat in a pan.

The smell was wonderful…

She tried turning towards the sound of the fire and she quickly heard voices.

Though they sounded strange and distant…

‘Food…’ she thought.

“No…” she verbally corrected, “Water… fresh…”

She coughed, “cool water… water…”

She tried moving her hands under the wool blanket around her and noticed that her wrists were bound.

‘What… I… I’m captured?’

The last real vestiges of her sleep wore off when it sunk in:

“ _I’m captured!”_

Her voice was pained and though she was awake, her delirium hadn’t yet worn off.

“No! I’m no slave! I have a name!”

She tried writhing and fighting her bonds and the foreign voices became louder beside her.

“I am Raveres… Druchii noble of Naggarond! R-release me! I-I am n-no slave!”

Her writhing and burst of defiant struggle sapped her energy and she quieted as she saw a vague shape come into view beside her.

Her voice faltered and she regressed into a basic state.

“W-water…”

Her pride, her personality, they fell to the side as her body screamed at her for what it needed. Her throat cracked and she pleaded with her mysterious captors,

“p-please… water…”

…

“By the Lady!” Jacque announced. The she-elf had awoken.

At first she moved and groaned so rapidly that it frightened the boy but eventually she tired herself out and began saying the same thing over and over.

“Didn’t you know elf-speak Sir Jean?”

The knight shook his head as he came to the elf’s side.

“Gah… it was a long time ago boy…”

The elf’s eyes darted in-between the knight and squire as she said the same thing over and over.

Each time her voice became weaker and quieter.

“The dark-elves speech is different to high-elf… But it sounds like… Boy, bring the water skin!”

The squire nodded and moved the pan from the fire before untying the knight’s large water skin from his horses’ side.

Handing the leather pack to his master the elf’s eyes widened in gratitude as she weakly extended her arms towards it.

“Hang on… I’ll help you…”

The knight uncorked the skin and helped direct the spout into the elf’s mouth.

She shut her eyes and greedily began drinking, nearly choking herself.

Pulling the skin away the knight warned; “Slow down! You’ll hurt yourself!”

Jacque sat back down and watched with interest.

The elf’s mouth and head moved after the dripping end of the skin and mumbled before beginning to drink again.

She eventually slowed her pace and Sir Jean pulled the skin away and she seemingly allowed it.

Her voice began repeating what she was saying earlier and Jacque looked at Sir Jean.

Placing the cork cap back to the spout he laid the leather water skin beside the elf’s arm and tried to make sense of what she was saying.

The knight furrowed his brow and stood up from the elf.

“What is it Sir Jean?”

The knight remained quiet and shook his head.

“Nothing boy…”

Pointing to the iron pan he motioned with his chin, “Don’t burn the meat…”

“Oh!” the squire returned his attention to the sausages and poked at them quickly.

…

The water was like liquid bliss… Raveres had never felt that desperate before and she knew that she never wanted to again.

With the fresh water in her belly, her wits began to come back to her and she slowly understood what must have happened:

She washed ashore and these humans must have ‘rescued’ her…

She tried speaking to the human knight but… he didn’t seem to understand her.

‘I suppose I should stop trying then…’ she mused.

The other human was a youth… but more than that he had a pan in his grip.

Taking some of whatever was in the iron skillet the boy placed it onto a small plate and handed it to the knight.

Raveres swallowed and tried moving under her covers.

In addition to being bound, she discovered that under the wool she was nude…

‘A trick no doubt… so I can’t run off… or even come out from this blanket.’

‘I thought I had died… I swore I had died…’

‘I remember getting closer and closer to the shore… and then… my arms just gave out… and I felt, cold.’

The smell of the meat was too good to ignore and the knight loudly bit into an apple.

She shuddered and watched the aged human chew and swallow the fresh fruit before cutting a piece of sausage.

Being so close to death and so weak in every aspect of her body she no longer felt shame to plead or beg…

Finding her voice her thoughts poured out as she extended her heavy and tired arms towards the knight.

“Please… please…”

She couldn’t form another word as it was only the pursuit of mercy she was after.

Though the Druchii was in no condition to appreciate the irony…

Her eyelids were heavy and her jaw stopped moving as she stared at the knight.

The boy spoke and she tried moving her head to look at him.

The knight nodded and the squire rose from where he was sitting to slowly walk towards her.

He held a plate in his hands and she felt a powerful wave of joy douse her heart.

…

“Be careful Jacque…”

The knight felt the parental need to say it but the squire didn’t see how the exhausted and near-dead elf honestly posed any kind of threat.

But he nodded nonetheless as he sat beside the she-elf on the sand.

Her face was like that of a weak babe, and her eyes looked up at him with utter vulnerability.

But the remnants of dark smudge gave her sharp eyes a deeper colouring and intensity.

Cutting one of the sausages on his small plate he extended the fork towards her mouth and for a moment he thought she might not have the strength to reach it.

She shuddered and extended her head towards the tongs and the boy overcame his fear of her to realise, she was literally so weak she couldn’t eat on her own.

…

The boy fed the elf and remained sitting beside her.

For a while she tried looking up at him but eventually her heavy lids shut and her breathing resumed a steady rhythm.

The boy watched her with interest as she slept.

Realising that this was the closest he’d ever been to a maiden before, and that, technically, he’d kissed her… Jacque couldn’t help but feel a strange attraction to her.

But as if Sir Jean read his thoughts the old knight announced, “Be wary boy… I can already see her foul power over you.”

The knight’s voice startled the squire and he looked away from the elf’s face.

“She may be beautiful yes… But you can never trust a dark elf…”

The squire pursed his lips and looked back down at the woman.

“When do you think she’ll be strong enough to travel a-horse?”

The knight finished his apple and threw the core in front of his steed; the horse eyed the fruit scrap with benign indifference and snorted.

“I’ll give her another hour or two and then we ought to continue onwards.”

The squire nodded and looked back to the sleeping she-elf.

Moving in her sleep the blanket fell and Jacques got a clear and bare view of her breasts again.

His face grew hot and red and he tentatively reached to pull the woolen sheet back over to cover her indecency.

The knight nodded approvingly.

“Check her clothes.”

The squire turned to the drying garments they had laid on a nearby shrub’s branches.

Reaching towards them he felt that the material was still damp.

“Wet Sir Jean…”

He nodded.

“Clean the plates and pan and put them away. I don’t want to spend any more time here than necessary.”

…

When her clothes were dry Sir Jean agreed that they ought to dress the elf.

Ordering the squire to turn around once more the knight went about untying her bonds and speedily re-clothing her while she slept.

He left her legs untied, but as soon as her blouse was back, over her chest, and covering her breasts from view he wrapped her wrists.

“What do you think her name is?” The squire asked as he doused their fire.

The knight looked at her emotionless face.

“I think she’d said it… but I’m not sure…”

The squire nodded as he threw their packs back on the horse’s flanks.

“She’s too pale for this country…” Sir Jean remarked.

“She’d burn to death before we reached Qaryat Aljawla.” He laughed dryly.

“Pull the white cloak from my satchel.”

The squire nodded and searched his master’s bag for his the riding hood.

As the knight looked to his squire the elf woke up.

When he glanced back down he saw the bright and lively eyes of the she-elf quietly staring back at him.

“By the Lady’s tits!”

Pushing himself backwards in surprise the squire first looked on in confusion but eventually realised what had happened and sniggered at his fallen master.

The elf began quietly speaking and stared between the boy and the man.

“What’d she say?” he asked inquisitively.

Brushing his surcoat off the knight rose and embarrassingly walked to his horse, he shook his head and coughed, “If my elven is correct… it’s not a thing to translate for a young boy’s ears.”

The squire smiled and looked away from his master to the lying dark-elf.

Now that she’d been fed and somewhat rested her lively face and natural movements made her even more beautiful to the youth.

He walked towards her and she sneered and tried moving away from the human as he came ‘too close’ for her liking.

The boy smiled and she tried avoiding his gaze, moving her head to the side and tilting her shoulders.

Pointing to his chest the squire clearly spoke, “I saved you.”

The knight tightened the bags on his horse and called, “She probably doesn’t speak our tongue Jacque. You’re wasting your breath.”

The squire’s face dropped in disappointment and he tried again.

Pointing to his chest he declared his name.

“Jacque.”

Pointing to the knight he spoke again, “Sir Jean.”

Then he pointed at the elf.

She twitched and nodded.

She understood and quietly spoke.

“Raveres…”

Jacque nodded and repeated the name, “Raveres?”

She nodded once.

He pointed at himself while smiling.

She visibly cringed but she complied, “Jacque…”

The boy laughed and smiled. “Yes! Correct! That’s me.”

He pointed to Sir Jean and she repeated, “Jean…”

The knight looked up and furrowed his brow.

He spoke in elvish and Jacque furrowed his brow.

Looking back at the she-elf she pursed her lips and nodded.

Then her demeanour changed, she spoke but her words sounded ugly and angry…

The squire looked on as the two adults began having a conversation in the foreign tongue.

…

“Am I your prisoner?” Raveres eventually asked.

The knight seemed to understand her far more than he was letting on.

In awfully accented high-elf he’d respond, and she had to strain to try and discern his words.

“Very little maybe you.”

‘What the hell does that mean!?’

She groaned, “Give me a straight answer you fool! Before I strangle the boy with these bonds!”

As soon as the words parted from her lips she felt a surge of weakness and her eye lids fluttered as she slackened.

The knight smirked, “If could, would, too weak from water-dying.”

Raveres took a breath and shuddered as the knight asked a question;

“Can even stand self-one?”

Though broken like the speech of a skaven slave she knew what the human was saying, and she knew full well that she couldn’t stand on her own.

Even as she lay on the blanket and bed roll her legs hurt from her swim.

She looked from the knight and saw that the squire was still staring at her.

It was unnerving and she was irritated at the sight of the boy’s gaze but there was nothing she could do… She was a prisoner.

She locked eyes with the youth and he smiled at her earnestly.

She shuddered and looked away awkwardly,

“T-tell him to cease looking at me so!”

The knight chuckled,

“Boy saved you, pulled water, kissed life to you.”

She looked from the man to the boy and blinked.

‘What do I do now?’

Coincidentally the knight offered a suggestion,

“Maybe thank boy?”

Raveres took a breath and nodded.

The words stuck in her throat and she eventually, quietly, spoke; “Thank you…”

The knight translated and the squire reached his hands forwards to touch the she-elf’s.

Her eyes widened at the touch and she raised her lip in confusion.

“L-let go…”

She pulled her hands away and kicked herself backwards as her voice cracked, “D-don’t touch me! Do-don’t come near me!”

The squire’s face paled and he shot back from the elf as he shook; the knight immediately came behind and placed a hand to the boy’s shoulder.

The knight stooped and spoke quietly to the boy and the squire stood and left the small clearing to tend to his horse.

It was all Raveres could do to bring her legs to her chest, but she remained like that for several minutes.

Her emotions were uneven, wild, and her mind ached as she tried to remain calm.

She struggled, weakly, against her bonds and her breathing began to grow more erratic.

“I am no slave… I will not be a slave…” her fear began to overwhelm her as she tried to get her hands out from the cord wrapped around them.

The elder knight took a few steps closer and spoke in better elven as his tone became calmer.

Holding out his hand he cooed, “No harm is coming to you…”

Raveres looked from her wrists and swallowed tensely as she stared at the grizzled knight.

He smiled earnestly and extended his hand towards hers.

She was shuddering and her breathing showed no signs of slowing.

“It is true; my squire saved you from the waves.”

Raveres clenched her teeth and remained silent as the knight placed his large, rough, and scarred hand over both of hers.

“He then saved you from my wrath when I saw what you were.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You are a daughter of Naggarond yes? A foul member of the self-styled Druchii?”

The knight’s skin was warm against hers and she remained still for lack of a weapon, and the weakness crippling her body.

She slowly nodded.

The knight looked over his shoulder to make sure that his charge was away, out of earshot, and doing as he had bid him.

The knight cleared his throat and spoke elven in an accent closer to that of Druhir.

“It is against our laws to keep a slave… Nor would I ever chain someone into being one.”

Raveres relaxed ever so slightly.

“But know this dark-elf; these bonds will remain until I have decided what best to do with you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and nodded, “Understood?”

The she-elf slowly nodded.

The knight smirked, “Use your voice, I know you have one.”

“I understand…”

“Good. And know this; I am far more resilient and worldly than my boy…”

She looked past the knight’s shoulder and saw a flash of the squire as he moved between the two horses.

“I know the magics that your kind is able to weave. If you have ensnared him, or poisoned his mind I will do what I was going to on the beach: and I will run my sword through your heart without hesitation.”

Raveres took a sharp breath and looked at the knights eyes.

He raised his brow, wordlessly asking if she understood.

“I understand…”

The knight tapped her hands with his and relaxed somewhat.

“Can you stand my lady?”

The shift in tone from threat to courtesy was strange and Raveres looked at the knight uneasily.

Moving his hands to the sides of her arms he indicated he was willing to aid her to her feet.

Taking a breath the Druchii gave the attempt a genuine effort.

With the knights help she rose to a stand, but her head became dizzy at the sudden change in altitude.

“There, there… hold it.”

She steadied and the knight helped her walk a few feet forwards off of the bed roll and onto the warm sand surrounding the extinguished fire pit.

“Too much time at sea huh? Forgot how to walk did ye?”

The knight laughed and said the same thing in Bretonnian to his squire; the boy chuckled and watched while holding his masters’ white riding cloak.

Raveres’ stride was weak and she was depending on the knight far more than she would have liked to admit. Looking down at her pale shoeless feet she noticed that her boots had been stolen away.

The knight, Jean, indicated the bare feet as well; “When you came ashore you had only the one boot, the other must have fallen off in your swimming.”

Raveres growled in displeasure, ‘Those were sent away for and made by the best cobbler in Karond Kar…’

Tentatively letting go of her shoulders Sir Jean allowed her to stand on her own.

‘Those damn shoes probably cost more than this hedge-knight’s horse!’

“I may lend you a pair if you would wish? Though they are worn anything is better than burning your feet on the sands.”

Raveres looked up with an expression of bewilderment, “What? How can one burn their feet!”

The knight chuckled, “On some days here it doesn’t take long for the sun to heat the sand to the same temperature required to make glass… You run barefoot out there,”

He pointed through the palms towards the rolling hills of sand and rock.

“You can cook the flesh off your toes.”

Raveres shook her shoulders.

Speaking to his squire the boy handed the knight the white riding cloak and turned to rifle through a pack on the knight’s horse.

After a short search Jacque presented a pair of large, old, boots and tentatively held them towards Raveres.

“He fears you… though a saviour ought not to fear the one who owes him their life…”

The Druchii looked at the knight tensely.

She felt awkward and didn’t know what to say. It was not often that a dark-elf owed a non-Druchii such a debt…

She took the boots from the squire and nodded to the boy appreciatively.

He smiled and relaxed slightly.

“I…”

The knight and squire looked at her expectantly.

The words stopped in her throat and she felt disgusting as she tried to speak,

“T-thank you…”

The knight bowed his head and the squire followed suit.

The squire descended to help her direct her feet into the light brown shoes.

“This will protect your fair skin from the sun.”

Extending the bundled white cloak Raveres humbly accepted the gift and the squire tapped her other leg, indicating she was to raise her left foot.

…

Before they set out to continue on their journey Raveres persuaded Sir Jean to allow her to see the beach and the wreckage of her ship.

Jacque held the reins of the horses and the knight pointed along the coast where he and his squire had seen her body.

With the hood of the white cloak covering her head she wiped her already perspiring brow.

“We will leave the dead now… I’m sure the smoke will bring thieves and scavengers.”

Raveres nodded.

The knight pursed his lips and seemed sullen, “I’m sorry for your comrades. No one should be left like this, but we must depart.”

Raveres turned away and the three began walking.

“They fought well…”

Sir Jean nodded.

Her lip sneered and she spat to her side as she continued lowly, “But not well enough…”

Ignoring her callousness the knight spoke; “You shall ride with Jacque, I’d gladly have you on my horse but Michelle is not as strong as she used to be and I fear riding her with just my weight alone.”

Raveres nodded and looked at the second horse, the squires’.

It was visibly younger and more robust than the knight’s and the squire made a whistling sound for the horse to lower its front legs and descend so he could more easily mount.

The knight stepped into his horse’s stirrup and sat atop his tired steed in a skillful flurry.

Walking towards the squire Raveres exhaled somewhat nervously.

It’d been a while since she’d ridden a horse, and she’d never been on one with two passengers.

The squire nervously averted his eyes and waited as the she-elf stepped forwards; he popped his foot out of the left side stirrup and allowed Raveres to make use of it as foundation.

Putting her ill-fitting boot into the small iron hoop she pushed off while trying to bring her leg over the horse’s back.

The horse, unhappy with the additional weight stood back up and Raveres nervously threw herself onto the horses back and pressed herself into Jacque.

The squire’s face became red and he quickly pushed his foot back into the stirrup before pulling his reins and steering the horse to the right.

The knight took lead and quietly the two horses began trotting away from the coastline as Sir Jean and the Squire Jacque exchanged words.

Raveres was quite uncomfortable and didn’t have the energy to fight the slope of the saddle anymore. When she finally gave in her body slid so that it was pressing up against the young squire all the way to the back of his neck.

He kept a dirty little smile across his lips as he felt the push of her chest against him with each breath she took.

Clutching the reins as more of a formality than anything his horse followed Sir Jean’s as had become their habit.

“So…” The young squire asked. “Raveres?”

She grunted at the sound of her name as she looked around the alien landscape.

“Sir Jean, she understands nothing of our tongue?”

The knight nodded, “Aye… and I’d wager she doesn’t wish to hear you speak incessantly. Such a thing would remind her of her bondage.”

The squire’s spirit fell, “Oh… of course…”

Raveres rested her bound wrists to the squires’ shoulder and watched with a sigh as they passed hills of rock, patches of sandy grass and the occasional palm tree.

Sir Jean spoke to her in the elven tongue and Jacque smirked as she responded.

The movement of her chest against his back and the sound of her voice were strangely powerful to the youth, and he perversely enjoyed the feeling of her movements and the vibration of her language against him.

…

“What business brought you to these shores?” the knight had asked.

“My company was one with mercantile intent…”

“Ah, trade… I suppose there is honour in that.”

Raveres smirked, ‘what would a human know of honour…’

Changing the subject bizarrely the knight asked a strange question, “Does the noble lady sing?”

Raveres looked from their side and furrowed her brow, “What?”

The knight smiled and turned around, “Do you know any songs?”

Before she could respond he continued, “Riding like this is frightfully boring without something to pass the time. Jacque and I often share songs,” he laughed, “It has earned us many a pleasant companion and safe travels.”

The she-elf looked away, “I have slaves to sing for me if I wish…”

The knight pursed his lips, disappointed, “alas, we’ve no musical slaves out here. You will have to make do with Jacque and myself…”

Breaking into an opening note the elder knight began singing loudly in his tongue as Jacque erupted in accompanying vocals.

The sudden noise shocked her and she looked down at the boy in front of her apprehensively.

‘Oh Khaine… I wish they had of let me drown…’

…

She listened wearily as the two humans performed their duet. When their first song had finished the squire began a solo. Though it was nothing like she’d heard before Raveres had to admit that it sounded… pleasant.

The youth’s voice seemed melancholic as he recited the lyrics and his tone flowed lyrically as he sang.

The elf didn’t know what it was he was saying but she could feel the emotion in his words.

It was strange, and the feeling of his back against her chest made the vibrations of his singing pass into her body. As if the music were magic her heart tightened and she listened along.

Just as she was about to admit to herself that she liked it, the boy finished and the song ended.

She furrowed her brow and tapped her wrists against the squire’s shoulder, “Again…” she asked somewhat innocently.

The knight translated and the squire looked up at his passenger as he nodded, though his face quickly became red and darted away from the Druchii’s eyes.

He cleared his throat and began singing again.

Raveres felt strangely in her chest and she lowered her head onto the squire’s right shoulder.

At the surprising gesture, he faltered and miss-sung as he nervously tried to keep to the beat in his head.

The knight turned and pursed his lips stoically before looking forwards.

Raveres let out a heavy breath and her pride loosened, she’d been shamed, beaten, and defeated. She’d endured far too much indignity to muster care anymore or at least for the moment.

She pressed herself into the squire and turned to bury her nose into the material of his tabard.

He faltered again but continued his song.

Raveres seemed unbothered by his pauses and clung to the human.

Her thoughts were loudly building but as she focused on the young human’s singing she felt a divine relief wash over her mind.

She began humming along to his words and when he finished she tapped his shoulder and repeated; “Again.”

He coughed clearing his throat and started the song a third time and Raveres hummed along with him from the beginning.

Sir Jean listened and furrowed his brow as he directed his horse along the path.

When the boy finished Raveres shut her eyes and pressed her face into his shoulder again.

They traveled in silence for a few minutes before the knight began singing, yet there was something familiar in his words.

Raveres quickly realised he was singing in elvish. It wasn’t a song she knew, but the lyrics were easy enough to understand…

The singer revealed he was a traveler, and that he had lost something.

He longed to find it again because it was gift for his beloved, and he revealed that his song was his letter to her and he hoped she could forgive him for his absence.

The chorus was that he intended to return to her and he lived only till she held him again.

Raveres appreciated the song, but more than that she felt the sentiment from the knight very strongly.

It was obvious to her that he sang it and knew it for some purpose…

When the knight finished the young squire clapped applause and the knight smiled as he bowed in his saddle.

They then traveled in quiet for a while; occasionally the Bretons would talk to one another but for the most part they remained silent.

The Druchii contemplated where it was they were going and she shook her head as she thought about how far they probably were from where Captain Dorath and she had planned to land and establish their base-camp.

Thinking about the late captain she recalled the sight of his head and she felt the pain of failure once again stab in her heart…

‘Annio-Luis Philipe De Bilbali…’ she thought. ‘I will commit his stupid name to my immortal memory and I _will_ kill him…’

His voice came through her mind as she pictured his sarcastic face, ‘Where there’s life… there’s hope…’

…


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raveres, Sir Jean, and Jacque arrive at their destination, though the elf is not as enamoured as she might have hoped.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Five

Though she was wearing a white riding cloak and the bright colour helped to diffuse and reflect much of the sunlight from heating her up, Raveres was beginning to feel the fatigue of someone who was used to a temperate climate and severe winters.

Sweating and weakly leaning against Jacque the squire she began panting and doing everything she could to stay in the saddle.

“Sir Jean! How far are we from Qaryat Aljawla?” The youth called.

The knight looked back at the sickly elf and the concerned face of his squire.

He looked ahead of them down the sandy road and gritted his teeth.

“We haven’t even passed the fallen colossus yet…”

Turning his horse around Sir Jean came alongside his squire and took his water skin from where it was resting at his side.

“She-elf…” he called in Druhir.

Raveres blinked and sweat drops which had collected on her eyelids ran down her skin with black streaks from her faded and bleeding war-paint.

Holding the vessel aloft and towards her he punctuated the action with the declaration; “Water.”

She nodded weakly and wordlessly extended her hands towards the skin. As she took hold of the container the knight waited until she had a solid grip before letting go.

Riding his horse around the back of Jacque’s steed the knight came back to the lead of their party and resumed his previous pace.

Hearing her drinking loudly behind him Jacque commented on his passenger, “Slow down! You’ll be sick!”

Raveres, not understanding his words, ignored the tone of warning and filled her mouth greedily.

Jacque cringed and silently hoped she wasn’t going to be puking up her water on him, his horse, or anywhere close…

‘Such a waste…’ he thought nervously.

Capping the skin and slinging it around her neck Raveres tried calling to the knight.

“Wh-where are you taking me?”

“We’re on a mission my lady… The village we are headed to is home to a castle-monastery.”

He seemed like he was going to say more but stopped himself and corrected his line of speech, “There are monks there pledged to aid any and all… if they come in peace…”

Raveres nodded as she panted over Jacques’ shoulder.

“They will see if you need any healings or care and then we will have discharged our duty of you.”

His voice sounded somewhat harsh and he immediately followed up with a polite, “My lady.”

The Druchii nodded and wiped her brow again.

“Do… do they trade?”

The knight furrowed his brow, “What are you expecting to set up a contract with them?” he laughed and repeated the interaction to Jacque in Bretonnian; the youth chuckled.

“I… I need arms, a sword. A writ of travel, maps, a guide…” her voice trailed off as she leaned in the saddle.

Adjusting herself she continued, “I must avenge my… my honour… I…”

Her voice faltered and Jacque’s expression lowered, though he didn’t understand her words he could feel the change in her emotion.

Sir Jean furrowed his brow and looked away to see the Druchii’s face.

“I… have to recoup my debt… I have to… finish what I had planned…” she shuddered and her face fluttered from the heat, “my father, my country… my family, I…”

She began sobbing and Jacque’s eyes widened and he nervously tightened his grip on his reins.

The knight began shushing and slowing his horses’ movement, “My lady… please you’re exhausted still, you’re lucky to be alive. There’ll be time for any of that when we get to the monastery.”

Raveres burned with a rage in her chest but it was immediately doused as she thought about her chances.

‘You’re finished… a failure, a captive, and a weakling. You would have drowned if not for these pitiful humans interfering, _and it would have been better if you did die_.’

She sobbed and tears began falling from the corners of her eyes.

“I… I shouldn’t have lived…”

She leaned against Jacque’s shoulder and let out a heavy breath.

In their mother tongue Sir Jean ordered the boy maintain his speed.

“I should have died…”

…

Captain Annio-Luis Philipe de Bilbali was loudly singing with his men as they pulled their ship into port.

Hanging from the mainmast’s rigging the captain belted out the lead in a shanty and his men followed with the responding chorus.

As the song concluded the Estalian crew laughed and loudly cheered as they slowed alongside of the dock.

Dropping to the deck of his ship Captain Annio gave his last order for the day, “All hands dismissed! Enjoy your spoils, and enjoy the pleasures of dry land!”

The men cheered and began pouring off the sides of the ship as they descended into the small pirate-friendly port town to spend their stolen elven gold.

The slave Mariana had survived the sinking of the _Witches Wail_ by dressing herself in Raveres’ finery, stealing the Druchii’s personal affects, and taking on the persona of a rich Estalian who’d been captured by the dark-elves.

Captain Annio was easily fooled and immediately took the lady into his cabin and his arms, fulfilling his picturesque fantasy of saving a damsel in distress.

To ensure her freedom Mariana also burned her slave registry, and as far as Druchii law was concerned, she was now a free creature…

Pawning off Raveres’ ivory comb, a few of her gold rings, and much of the contents of her chest Mariana had all but secured her passage on the pirate galleon _Santa Cortez_. The last hurdle was to attach herself to the captain and ensure her personal safety.

He was handsome… strong… And he appeared smitten, she bit her lip. ‘Seducing Annio-Luis was easy.’

Forgetting the smell, the perverse orders, and sickening desires of the Druchii Raveres was less easy… but Mariana was content to suck the captain’s cock and loudly enjoy ‘freedom’ sex, anything which was going to affirm her ‘life’.

“Captain…” she asked, blinking with a sultry expression she walked up to embrace her ticket back home.

Annio smiled and turned around to face his passenger.

“Ah, my lady!” he kissed her hand and nodded, “I hope that those dark-elf wretches didn’t mistreat you too severely?!”

She played it up and immediately shuddered, “Oh… my Captain… it was horrible. They frightened me, and they used… such vulgar, evil words to describe what they were intending to do to me…”

He immediately rose with anger at such an indignity.

“My lady I am glad that I sent them to the depths… Please, set yourself back in my cabin; allow me to play host to you.”

He took the lady’s hand and was about to lead her back across the deck when she interrupted him with her well-rehearsed character.

“Sir… y-you give me too much…”

He stopped an immediately became concerned, “Please, save your modesty! I did only what any true gentleman of Estalia would!”

She hid a smile and pretended to swoon.

“I… Captain…”

He raised a brow and leaned closer, taking a glance downwards at her bosom.

“I must confess… the way you dispatched those raiders was…”

He smiled as she stroked his ego.

“I have thought of you since… And though I have given you the valuables that I was able to keep since the elves stole everything else I had… I haven’t paid you your due yet…”

He took a sharp breath as they began walking towards the ship’s stairs and his cabin.

He played along as the two hid the true intention of their conversation.

“I haven’t the faintest idea my lady what else you would pay me for?”

She smiled and let out a giggle. ‘This was playing out like a poor erotic play…’ she thought. Having worked in a brothel Mariana had dolled herself up in many varying costumes and play-acted at different scenarios and moments that clients wished to fulfill…

She couldn’t help but shake her head at the fact that it was _actually working_ …

‘Or…’ she briefly wondered, ‘He knows it’s all an act is playing along?’

Clearing her throat she nodded, “Oh sir… you force me to shame myself?”

He took hold of his door’s handle, “Not at all! I would never make such a forceful suggestion to such a fair creature such as you!”

‘If he was playing along his face bore no signs of it.’

“Well then… as long as we are alone….”

He nodded.

‘May as well turn it up!’ she thought, ‘If he’s willing to play along, then damn it all I’m already at a loss!’

“Please Captain!”

She lunged towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Pressing herself closely to his broad and muscled chest.

He took a breath satisfactorily.

‘If he knew it was an act, he genuinely showed no signs of caring…’ she smirked, ‘he’s either the best actor I’ve ever met, or I’ve got him!’

“You’re so… strong… and handsome…”

He smiled and wordlessly agreed as she pressed the top of her exposed cleavage against him.

“Please be mine… I must have you! Yours is the first human face I have seen in months! And a fellow Estalian at that?”

She looked up into his handsome chiselled features; he was entirely under her spell.

“It must be fate… Myrmidia has brought us together…”

He nodded; it was certainly a divine coincidence that he had happened upon the Druchii ship that day… Though a scoundrel, Annio was actually very superstitious. Especially when it suited him…

“Please Captain Annio…” her voice dropped to a whisper as she kissed his neck.

“I…” her words faltered and he immediately picked her up in a flurry of movement.

“Say no more!”

He kissed her passionately and wrapped his arms under her legs to hold her bridal style.

“I am not one to ignore the commandments of the gods! And if fate has thrown us together I will not spurn Lady Fortuna or yourself…”

Rather than a hammock the captain enjoyed a large bed which dominated the middle of his room.

Laying her onto the soft, plush, sheets he immediately stepped back and began undressing.

“I shall make love _with_ you… as befitting of a woman who has been treated so poorly by such a crude and evil people! Your hurts will be soothed, and I shall kiss your skin with passion…”

Mariana held in a scoff, ‘He really was into this! He actually _believed it!’_

Revealing his scarred body the Captain flexed and Mariana actually felt herself get aroused at the display.

“I shall make you feel like an Estalian again! I vow it my lady…”

She smiled and began unbuttoning the ill-fitting Druchii dress. ‘Strong… actually handsome… and dim enough for me to control?’

She laughed lowly and seductively in anticipation, “Captain… nothing would make me happier…”

He nodded and smiled as he stroked his chin.

“Then I shall put you at ease… allow me…”

Reaching forwards his skillful hands began undressing her faster than she thought he was possible and eventually her bruised and beaten skin came out from the material and into view.

The man gasped and then immediately leaned to kiss and lightly touch her bruised and welt covered buttocks.

“What creature could have done this to you?!”

Mariana cringed at his touch but responded honestly. Though she bit her lip with anger.

“The she-elf named Raveres…”

He finished a kiss and immediately shot up in surprise.

“Raveres de Naguii? The long haired, pale, noble-ess?”

Mariana nodded, “You killed her too?” she asked, plainly hoping that the sadistic Druchii had been taken care of.

“I…” the captain looked away, “I could not bring myself to kill such a beautiful woman but… I had her thrown into the sea… Surely she has drowned.”

‘Not what I wanted to hear gods damn it…’

He immediately continued and pointed to Mariana’s wounds.

“But she did this to you?”

Mariana nodded reluctantly. Her voice at first almost broke the spell of the moment but she quickly regained her acting tone.

“She beat me; the vile she-elf intended to make me her slave. Captain Annio… she made me…”

The woman played it up and made an exaggerated shudder of revulsion.

“She forced me to do… such…”

Annio immediately leaned towards her with concern in his eyes.

“What? That Druchii beat you and… how dare her!”

He punched his fist into his hand and bit his lip in frustration.

“If only I had known! I would have seen justice done for you…”

Then curiosity overcame the man and he hesitantly asked in a semi-whisper, “What did she make you do?”

Mariana smiled inside, if she did this right she could make the Captain more aroused…

“She… she forced me to strip in front of her…”

The captain’s expression immediately changed.

“Then she… she had me take her clothes off.”

The captain moved around where he sat uncomfortably, slowly bringing his hands towards Mariana’s skin, stroking and lightly rubbing her.

“Oh captain… I had to wash her body… her breasts… her legs… her…”

He nodded quietly, intensely watching as she regaled the tail.

“Then when she was clean… she lay down and had me…”

She pretended to be embarrassed.

The captain nodded, “please… do… do go on?”

Mariana pretended to be modest and she whispered, “She had me lick her body…”

The captain shuddered and gulped loudly.

“I was forced between her legs and… it smelt…”

He nodded.

“She smelt like a flower… like lavender and honey-water.”

The captain licked his lips and despite his earlier vow of passion became aroused under his trousers.

“I licked her and licked her… there were moments I couldn’t breathe there was so much…”

His eyes widened and he tried to keep himself composed.

“She forced me down and… I didn’t know what I was doing or what was happening but…”

She took the captains hand and pressed it between her legs and against her vagina.

“I felt warm here as I was doing it…”

He nodded and began teasing her clitoris with his fingers.

“Oh captain I was… I was so shamefully used by her that… as soon as I saw you I had to feel a man’s warmth and touch.”

He nodded and smiled.

“I understand my lady… That’s a harrowing experience to be sure!”

She nodded and kissed his cheek as he embraced her with his free hand.

“She made me do all sorts of things I never thought two women should ever do!”

The captain stroked Mariana’s labia and began teasing her wet entrance.

“The shame of it my lady…” he remarked.

She cooed and moaned in agreement, “It was shameful… so shameful. The worst thing about it was… I…”

She shuddered and began rubbing herself against the captain’s hand.

“I liked it… secretly! And I… Oh captain…”

The man shook and began violently kissing Mariana up her neck and towards her chest.

“We kissed each other… she made me… I had to kiss her body… just like that captain!”

The two humans became lost in their respective actions, the façade began to wane, and both seemed to have subconsciously and without words agreed to what they were going to be doing.

He took a sharp breath and excitedly left a few hickeys on the skin above her breasts.

“She had me suck on her… like… oh captain please…”

He licked her nipples and began slowly pushing his thick finger between her wet lips.

“Yes!” she announced loudly.

Mariana surprised herself by how much she was actually fixated on her recent lesbian experience.

It was perverse, and arousing, and dirty… Mentally reliving it now with Annio in her grasp…

She shook with a wave of arousal.

Letting herself go for a moment Mariana let out all the stops and gave herself over to the heat of the proceedings.

“Please captain… I can’t stop thinking about it… it was so horrible…”

He nodded and came away from her breast.

Pressing his lips to hers they kissed loudly and she moaned with satisfaction as he began moving his finger in and out of her with a building speed.

Breaking off the kiss he nodded.

“Fear not… I…” he let out a breath and steadied himself.

“I will help you forget it.”

Mariana nodded, “please do…”

With her free hands she began unclipping Annio’s belt and forcing his trousers down.

As soon as his cock was exposed she winced and looked into his eyes longingly.

“Oh captain… I… please! I need you…”

He nodded obligingly and removed his fingers from her glistening pussy to lick and smell her body’s scent.

Pressing their lips together again Mariana tasted herself on the captain’s tongue as they wetly dueled during their kiss.

Moving into a better position she began rubbing his cock in between her wet labia, loudly thrusting upwards, slapping his body against hers.

At first she cringed in pain and they broke off the kiss.

“I’m sorry! Are you alright?” he asked.

“She hit me… she took her belt and whipped me before forcing me to continue licking her.”

The captain’s cock throbbed at her words but he forced himself to move slower as he thrusted.

Mariana shook her head.

“No… please… captain. Take me like you’re a red-blooded Estalian!”

He stopped and looked down at the woman with wide eyes.

“I may hurt, but I want it…” she bit her lip and leaned forwards to kiss a scar on the man’s chest.

“I want you to claim me Annio… You’re a man who has freed me from a horrible fate. But you’re a _man_ and you take what you want…”

She took a breath and kissed him again before leaning back, “Take me like you want me…”

Letting out a loud breath she nodded, “I want you…”

He smiled eagerly and moved his hand to direct the head of his wet cock in between her labia. Rubbing it against her clit she loudly moaned before he slowly began pushing it inside her.

Throwing her head back she cooed and shuddered wanting-ly at the intrusion.

“Oh! Yes! _Yes!_ ”

Pressing himself against her he finally pushed the length of his thick member into Mariana’s womanhood.

She shuddered, he was thicker than she had thought and at first it felt uncomfortable but as soon as he started moving backwards to begin thrusting it melted away, and instead she became soothed with a satisfying ‘fullness’.

As he began thrusting he brought his hands to rub her nipples and cup her warm, soft, breasts.

After beginning a rhythm he took a breath and spoke,

“What was it like?” he asked.

Mariana opened her eyes and fluttered while she repeated, “What was ‘what’ like?”

“Bedding with a fellow woman?”

He hid a smile and excitedly began thrusting harder as his fingers rolled her nipples and occasionally lightly pinched them.

Mariana shuddered and smiled embarrassingly, she began melding truth and fiction as she continued her ‘dirty-talk’.

“At first it was shameful and I felt dirty… but…”

He nodded expectantly.

“Then it tasted…” she licked her lips and shut her eyes as she played up the recollection.

“It was so sweet… and she was so tight around my fingers…”

“But captain… this… oh you feel so good…”

He thrust harder and leaned forwards to share a kiss. In between their lips she loudly declared, “Oh yes! Keep it there, h-harder!”

He complied and kept moving pleasurably as his hands explored her chest and neck.

“So this Druchii, she used you for a… well as a what?”

Mariana smiled, “She wanted me for her personal harlot…”

He nodded and kept thrusting, driven by the arousing thought of the two women locked in their lesbian, sexual tryst.

“She wanted me naked in her cabin… she wanted me to lick her body and kiss her lower lips whenever she desired…”

He twitched and moaned at the mental image of it.

“Oh… good gods…”

Mariana loudly groaned and wrapped her legs around the captain’s back.

“I know… but… the worst thing, even though I feel you deeply within me, I can taste her upon my lips! The elf must have left an evil spell upon me…”

The captain pulled his cock out of her wet and tight body and nodded, “Perhaps this may help?”

Mariana smiled and licked her lips, “Oh captain… I hope so…”

Looking up the two shared knowing glances of desire and Mariana flipped over to her back while moving towards the captain’s dripping and erect penis.

Pushing it into her mouth Annio leaned forwards and began kissing a trail down her belly towards her glistening labia and wanting vagina.

The two began loudly slurping and kissing, sucking and moaning, as they forcefully enjoyed one another’s bodies.

Gagging herself on Annio’s cock Mariana forced her mouth all the way down his shaft until she felt it fill her.

‘Fuck yes… oh gods… this is … oohhh gods…’ She mumbled.

Annio moaned and grunted as he licked and sucked on Mariana’s soaked vagina.

She began grinding her crotch against his mouth and moaning loudly as she came onto his tongue.

Lifting his head out from between her legs he brought a hand towards her clitoris and began attacking the small button.

“Mariana… oh yes… keep at it… yes! _Yes!_ ”

She moaned and gagged as she tried to move herself up and down his shaft.

Pushing herself off his throbbing cock she coughed and spat thick saliva onto her chin.

“Please, my captain, fuck me! Finish wherever you wish!”

He nodded and smiled perversely.

“Come here!” he announced, “lay here, push yourself into the air… give me your hands.”

Complying Mariana moved and the two took up a doggy style position, extending her hands backwards they locked grasps as Annio began thrusting forcefully as deeply as he could into her wet and quivering body.

“Yes! Beg me!”

“Oh yes! Fuck me… fuck me harder! Harder!”

The captain tensed and pulled her hands so she was forced to rise somewhat.

“There! Yes… yes…”

Grunting the captain began shaking and spurting into Mariana’s tight and twitching entrance.

“Oh… oh… y-yes…”

Letting go of her hands the Estalian woman fell forwards onto the bed as her lover’s member began slowly pulling out of her sensitive and satisfied body.

‘Raveres de Naguii…’ he smiled and looked down as he tried catching his breath.

‘I can see why you would have wanted to bed such a creature…’ he smiled and slapped across the red welts that the she-elf had left on Mariana’s skin.

She let out a loud cry and moaned, “Captain! N-no… that’s too much…”

“Come here…” he whispered and smiled.

Lazily Mariana rose from the bed and turned.

The captain motioned she was to rise higher and she slowly complied.

He leaned forwards and the two began kissing as he reached a hand to cup one of her breasts.

“Tell me more about this shadow she-elf…”

…

“Look master! I think I see the castle!”

Though to call the small ruins of Qaryat Aljawla a ‘castle’ is to greatly embellish its size…

Centred on a fallen keep, the castle-monastery had sprouted out of the hall of the keep and sought refuge amongst its solid stone walls.

After many decades the small order of monks had repaired and shored up many of the holes and minor injuries that the installation had suffered since the end of the Bretonnian crusades, but there was not enough skill or coin to return the keep, its parapets, or its outer walls to their former glory.

Originally the castle was a simple tower and defensible bailey to keep secure a well which brought water from an underground reservoir, but when the Bretons arrived they immediately set to securing the source of water more permanently…Displacing the locals the knights constructed a walled fortress around the watering hole and garrisoned many companies of knights and footmen during the years of the crusades.

Since their end so many years ago the castle was neglected until it became the refuge of some Hospitaller monks.

Mostly administering aid to the sick and providing a safe place for travellers, the monks spent their time writing, transcribing, translating, and copying books when they weren’t healing those in need.

Sir Jean nodded.

Around the small tower and its decrepit walls they could see the small hovels and houses of the locals who’d returned to the shade and sanctuary of the watering hole, trading, farming dates, and raising sheep and goats as they lived alongside the Bretonnian monks.

The colourful train of a camel caravan was stopped and had been set to sit under the large palms which grew on either side of the old stone walls.

Munching on grass the camels looked relieved as their riders went to work unloading and moving their wares.

“It appears we shan’t be the monk’s only visitors today Jacque…”

Keeping Raveres’ unconscious body in the saddle the youth had wrapped her arms around his neck and kept his hand pressed to hers, holding her in place as she limply leaned against him.

The knight looked uneasily at the she-elf.

Gruffly clearing his throat he nodded. “We may face some undesired attention with her as ill as she is.”

The squire furrowed his brow uneasily.

“Right…”

The knight adjusted how he sat in his saddle and placed his hand on his hilt, pulling the sword out to make it ready.

Taking his reins back up, he kicked his horse’s flanks and resumed their approach.

…

Keeping close to his squire the knight nodded towards the locals on either side of the road.

Climbing the small hill towards the open gate of the castle’s courtyard Sir Jean looked towards the camel caravan.

The Arabyan traders were loudly directing their men as they lifted heavy sacks off their pack-camel’s backs.

A few monks were waiting at the gate watching as the traders moved and set up their tents beside the walls.

As they saw Sir Jean’s approach several monks held their hands up to wave and smiled pleasantly.

“Sir Jean!” the lead monk declared, “Praise the Lady, you’ve made it!”

The knight smiled and nodded, but darted his eyes to the loud and moving traders.

“Fear not mighty knight, they are peaceful people… Their company has been dispatched by the Emir.”

Sir Jean nodded and slowed his horse as he and the squire came to a halt in front of the monks’ gate.

“I apologise brother, but we are both weary from the road…”

The monk nodded and began rubbing the muzzle of Michelle, Sir Jean’s horse.

“Of course, please. Brothers! Make way for Master Jean and his squire!”

“Nay!” said one of the monks; he remained in the gateway and pointed to the squire.

“Sir Jean and his boy are not alone! Who is this hooded and cloaked figure you bring along with you?”

The monk which had greeted Sir Jean stepped to the side and finally saw the white, hooded, figure leaning against Jacque the Squire.

“Ah! S-Sir Jean? My brother is correct… who is this?”

Sir Jean nodded and nervously looked to either side at the locals.

“Well… brothers, my Squire and I happened upon an injured unfortunate. They would have died without our intervention, we knew not what else to do but bring them with us…”

The lead monk immediately widened his eyes in concern, “Please!” he took hold of the horses bridle and began leading Sir Jean through the gate shooing his brothers out of the way.

A few of the Arabyan tradesmen and merchants looked on in puzzlement before shaking their heads and going back to their work.

“Please let old Mathias have a look at the poor creature!”

After riding into the courtyard a few monks began walking towards the horses.

Letting go of Sir Jean’s horse the monk Mathias walked towards Jacque and reached his hands upwards while behind him Sir Jean dismounted quickly.

Jacque looked with concern and the monk smiled, “Fear not boy, I won’t let him fall!”

The monk reached to part the cloak from the unconscious man’s head.

The older Bretonnian was surprised when the hood’s movement revealed the long and silver-white hair of a she-elf.

Mathias stopped mid-action and paused; taking a breath he then resumed his movement.

“Brother Sean?”

From the shade of the open door of the monastery a tall and severely scarred bald man walked into view.

The man must have been a former knight but Sir Jean’s eyes widened at the sheer height and size of the monk. He was clad in the black and green habit of the hospitallers and quickly came to the aid of Brother Mathias.

“Here… help me Brother Sean; I cannot get her down on my own…”

Mathias lowered his voice when he said ‘her’ and the Sean mutely nodded as he easily lifted the unconscious she-elf from behind Jacque.

Sir Jean came beside Mathias as the other monks looked on in interest.

“She’s-“

Mathias looked at the knight with disdain, sharply whispering, “I know exactly what she is brother… I am surprised a knight such as yourself would have found such a creature, let alone brought her here…”

Sir Jean leaned backwards and nodded, “I was bound by law… I couldn’t have slain such a defenseless woman and lived with myself afterward, especially in front of my boy.”

Jacque descended his horse and immediately came towards Brother Sean, “He better not hurt her!” he loudly declared.

Mathias looked from the knight and to the squire.

“No… we shall not harm your companion… Brother Sean has taken a vow of silence, and is in a period of atonement for his past.”

Jacque looked up uneasily at the marred and pained face of the bald monk and he nodded once.

The giant monk seemed completely unbothered by Raveres’ weight and then Mathias turned towards the entrance to the monastery.

“Bring her to the hospital… follow me brothers…”

The monk who had rudely addressed Sir Jean earlier grumbled and began leading the other idle monks in hushed discussion of the newly arrived.

Entering into the cool shade of the monastery Sir Jean and Jacque closely followed Mathias and the giant Sean as they walked down the main hall of the keep towards a small stone corridor.

The interior was lit by sunlight which poured in through the old arrow-slits of the castle. Jacque saw that to increase the volume of light allowed inside the sides of the slits had been worn down and made wider by the obvious use of hammers and chisels.

‘What a waste of a castle…’ the boy remarked.

Coming to the small hospital of the monastery Sean laid the still unconscious elf onto one of the few prepared beds.

Mathias nodded and thanked the silent monk, “Good work brother… Now may you fetch Abbot Ulkus?”

The giant nodded and quietly turned out of the room.

Mathias looked down at the elf and then back up at Sir Jean and Jacque.

He huffed loudly and shook his head.

“What in the Lady’s name possessed you to bring her with you?”

Sir Jean pursed his lips and Jacque immediately responded, “She was drowning! I saved her!”

The knight tried quieting his charge but Jacque loudly continued, “I gave her the kiss of life and rescued an innocent just as a knight is ought to!”

Mathias raised an eyebrow.

“An innocent Druchii?”

He scoffed, “No such thing exists…”

Jacque bit his tongue and Sir Jean eyed him intensely, “Leave us and see to the horses.”

The youth’s face dropped and he brought a hand to the hilt of his short sword, “Sir Jean?!” he whined.

“Go and see to the horses! Unload our packs and bring our effects into the main hall…”

He looked at his master with defeat and stood defiantly still.

“Jacque? Perhaps I shall lend you to the monks? After you run laps around the castle wall that is…”

The youth curled his lip and loudly turned towards the doorway.

Turning to face Brother Mathias the monk let out a sigh.

“His heart is in the right place…” he admitted.

Sir Jean nodded reluctantly, “I know…”

They turned to look at the Druchii on the bed in front of them.

Shuffling down the hall the bearded Abbot entered, the sight was comical as Sir Jean watched the small elderly man closely followed by Brother Sean towering over him.

“By the Lady!” he announced, “Don’t act like it’s a serious matter or anything!”

Coming in front of Sir Jean the knight bowed courteously to the venerable Abbot.

His voice shifted to familiarity as he greeted his old friend. “How do you do Sir Jean, always a pleasure to see you… Now what have you brought to our halls this day?”

Brother Mathias stepped onto the opposite side of the bed and the Abbot squinted as he took hold of the unconscious she-elf’s hand.

“It’s a female elf Father Abbot.”

The old man looked up from his patient and dryly laughed, “I’m not senile yet Mathias, I can see that… Now what’s wrong with her?”

Sir Jean held a laugh as Mathias nodded, “She appears to be heat stricken, though I haven’t the whole story…”

Turning from his subordinate the Abbot eyed Sir Jean, “Well?”

“My Squire and I rescued her from the shore, she was drowning, my boy gave her the kiss of life and we rode here as per our mission… She complained of the heat, and despite my water-skin she continued to get weaker…”

The Abbot nodded and turned his attention to the she-elf.

“Good job on the white cloak; you’ve probably saved her life again Sir Jean…”

“Mathias? Get Brother Renaud, I need his aid. Brother Sean?”

The giant nodded and stepped forwards.

The Abbot’s features softened and he nodded in gratitude, “You’ve done well, you are dismissed.”

The former knight smiled and quietly left down the hall.

Mathias nodded as well and quickly followed.

“So, she was washed ashore?”

“Aye”

The Abbot grumbled and brought his hand towards the elf’s neck.

“She’s strangely wet… but her sweat is not right.”

Sir Jean leaned forwards and the Abbot began undressing her chest.

Her breath was laboured and her skin glistened.

“She’s bound… A wise move on your part Sir Jean…”

The Abbot laughed, “Did she try to kill either of you?”

The knight looked down and shuffled from foot to foot, “She threatened to strangle Jacque with her bonds but, it was a bluff. She’s been far too weak to do anything.”

He nodded and held his hand to her chest as he brought his ear towards her mouth.

Listening to her breath the Abbot closed his eyes and felt her heartbeat at the same time.

“She’s suffering from heat-sickness surely, but gods be good I think that’s it. Thankfully she’s not too far along to be in any serious danger.”

Straightening back up Sir Jean’s face relaxed and he let out a breath.

The Abbot touched her right hand and patted it.

“Rest, water, food, and some herbal remedies and she’ll be set right…”

Looking down at the unconscious elf he raised an eyebrow, “At least as right at a Druchii might be made…”

He looked out the sunny window and sighed, “I often wonder why the gods placed so many foul beasts upon the earth… so many without hope of redemption.”

Sir Jean listened and watched Raveres’ sleeping body.

“And then I remember that redemption is something that requires a personal journey to attain…”

He looked from the window to the she-elf and lowered himself.

“So beautiful…”

Letting go of her hand the Abbot sighed again.

Brother Renaud, the monastery apothecary, came into the room with a basket filled with flowers and cut stalks of green herbs. Evidentially he had been in the monastery’s small garden before he was summoned.

At the sight of the she-elf he exclaimed, “Oh, b-by the Lady!”

He stopped in the doorway staring at the elf, frozen mid-step, while Brother Mathias stood behind him, a stern and uneasy expression across his features.

“Brother Renaud, she’s suffering from heat-sickness, get ready all that we will need to treat her. And be speedily.”

The monk snapped out of his daze and nodded while walking to the side of the room opposite the beds. Rummaging through the racks of phials and containers of dried medicines he began to assemble what he would require to treat her.

Walking beside Brother Renaud the Abbot picked a cloth off of the medicine table and began wetting it in an open basin of water.

Shuffling back towards the patient Sir Jean stepped to the side and awkwardly watched the monks go to work.

“Is there anything I might do to aid?” he asked embarrassed.

The Abbot smiled and wordlessly shook his head.

Brother Mathias stepped beside the elf and unclipped the riding cloak and began pulling it from under her.

“Thank you Sir Jean, but we will take it from here.”

The Abbot nodded, “Fear not sir knight, she is in safe hands…”

He nodded and slowly turned to the doorway.

“I’ll be in the hall… Please let me know if there’s anything that I might do if needed…”

The monks looked at the knight and nodded in appreciation as he left the small infirmary.

…

Fluttering her eyes open Raveres came to as Brother Mathias ran a wet, cool, cloth across her chest.

Brother Renaud brought a fizzing tonic towards her and the Abbot spoke in rusty Druhir, while reading from a small book with elvish characters on its cover.

“Still your ire lady Druchii,”

“We mean you no harm, and shall not seek to keep you any longer than is necessary.”

She looked around her surroundings and huffed as she nervously tried to move.

Raveres felt warm on her face and body and her arms were still tied together at the wrists.

“Where am I?” she asked dryly.

The elder Bretonnian cleared his throat, “You’re in our monastery, welcome to Araby…”

Turning to one of his brothers his voice rose, “I think she’s lucid this time…”

“Are you able to understand me Druchii?”

She huffed and moved under the thin sheet, “I… I am.”

She looked at the small older man and he grunted before responding, “That’s good… You’ve woken up several times, but you were unable to hold a conversation such as this…”

Brother Renaud helped Raveres drink the cool tonic and despite her natural fear her needs far outweighed her concern and she greedily swallowed the sweet tasting water.

“Now, I heard that Sir Jean’s Squire is the one that you owe your life to most. Do you remember this?”

Renaud moved the now empty cup from her lips and she panted while swallowing the last of the medicinal drink.

Raveres furrowed her brow and looked away from the Abbot and towards the chamber’s window, “I remember waking with the knight and squire… then we rode for hours… From there I don’t recall.”

“That sounds about right…” he gruffly cleared his throat, “but with that aside, while you are our guest you will keep any of your foul rites and magic’s unspoken…”

Relaxing her neck backwards she looked towards the ceiling and exhaled loudly.

“The heat of the desert nearly killed you and I’m surprised you’re as lucid now as you are.”

She gritted her teeth and felt a strange shiver.

“This is good; you will understand my words… Now, ours is an order of peace in this barbaric world… we are dedicated to healing. And though you may be a creature twisted by dark powers and ruled by heathen gods and evil kings… we shall make use of our skills nonetheless…”

Raveres bit her tongue and remained quiet.

“So Druchii… by what may we call you?”

She looked towards the small Abbot and relented, “My name is Raveres, and my house is known as Naguii.”

As her words came from her lips her chest puffed with pride.

The Abbot nodded and motioned with approval to a younger initiate monk at the side of the door.

The young human looked at his hands and busily scratched a quill to an open log book in his left hand.

“Well, Raveres of the Naguii. What brought you to our shores?”

She scoffed, and tried to raise her voice, “As with your entire race, your curiosity is a sickness…”

The scribe came closer and scratched his quill loudly as he began recording.

She looked at the younger monk and at first he blushed as he looked at the parchment.

“He speaks Druhir?” she asked, clearing her throat again.

The scribe nodded and was about to open his mouth when Raveres turned back to the Abbot.

“If the celibate fool attempts to speak my tongue to me I will rend him...”

The scribe shut his mouth and immediately turned his attention back to his writing at the sudden and authoritative threat.

“I will not be addressed, in _Druhir_ by a jumped up peasant…”

The Abbot made a loud noise scolding his initiate before returning to the she-elf, he drew a breath curtly and tried taking a diplomatic tone as he continued, “I apologise, but if you will indulge us, we keep meticulous records…”

She looked at the scribe and furrowed her brow, raising her nose in disgust.

Mathias finished wiping down her chest and took the cloth away from her flesh as he leaned away from the bed.

“What could you possibly be recording?”

The Abbot sighed and chuckled, “Well… anything really… You can never know what might be useful information. So we try to catalogue as much as we can, as best we can… If we do not write history down, how can it be said it ever happened at all?”

Raveres smirked.

“Well then, Abbot… as payment I suppose I owe you as much.”

The elderly man smiled slightly in surprise, “You’re far more amicable then the books I’ve read on your people have made you out to be… Though you may be a little…”

He looked at Mathias.

“Haughty?”

Raveres smiled, “We haven’t met as foes old man.”

He chuckled, “I suppose not…”

“Well, start from the beginning, where did you set sail from? Tell us your story.”

Raveres immediately blinked and her voice caught in her throat.

“What? I…” she narrowed her eyes at the human, “Really?”

The Abbot nodded, “Certainly…”

Furrowing her brow at her strange audience she paused awkwardly.

…

For the next while Raveres, at much prompting from the Abbot, shared the details of her journey so far from her home; her voyage across the sea, and her fateful encounter with the pirate known as Annio-Luis Philipe de Bilbali.

At the recollections of the battle she began seething as she pictured the Estalian’s mustached face…

Her hands clenched into fists and she gritted her teeth as she grumbled.

When she finished she described how she lost consciousness while swimming towards the shore and when she awoke she’d been ‘rescued’ by Sir Jean and his squire Jacque.

Naturally she neglected to mention how badly she had lost her fight with the human, or that her men were slaughtered wholesale… She only revealed the key details, and anything which would have reflected poorly on her was skillfully left out.

Then the Abbot nodded, “Which then brings us here?”

Raveres raised a brow and nodded reluctantly.

“Thank you, Lady Naguii.”

She cringed, ‘The only one called that is my mother… and if she saw me now? Oh she’d not be happy…’

Raveres looked away from the abbot as he spoke with the scribe.

‘But where there’s life…’ she rolled her eyes and groaned at her own thoughts.

‘I get it… I’m alive… but I have no sword! No armour… and my damn hands are still bound!’

She took in a breath and looked to her side.

‘Just wait I suppose… we’ll figure out something soon… I know it… There’ll be a sign, and vengeance will be within my grasp.’

The Abbot waved off the scribe and then turned back to the Druchii she-elf.

“At this rate, you’ll be right as rain by tomorrow…”

She grumbled and tried to avoid the monk’s gaze.

“But, during that time I expect you to abide by our customs with respect.”

She sneered as her racial elitism began to rear its head. The fast acting tonic filled her with relief from her previous condition and with every minute she lay still she began to resemble her old self.

“You should expect nothing old man… If you know what I am then you know we are not ones told… _We_ do the telling.”

He pursed his lips almost disappointed.

He laughed and she looked at him, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“And here I was about to let you free of your bonds…”

Raveres’ expression dropped and she looked at her wrists.

The Abbot stood up and began walking towards the door.

Letting out a sharp noise Raveres tried moving in the bed, “W-wait…”

The Abbot turned knowingly.

“What…” she gritted her teeth and pursed her lips, fuming and seething at having been made to act humbly. “What customs would those be?”

Each word was quiet and seemed to affect her physically as she spoke.

He bowed his head and walked back towards her.

“Fear not she-elf… I’m not about to force you through a lesson in humility… I think for a noble your current fortunes have been punishment enough.”

Shuffling his hands along his belt he brought out a small two inch long, old, knife.

He waved her hands closer and pressed the blade in between the cords.

Raveres’ eyes widened in disbelief, ‘I’m… actually being freed?”

“Now, don’t think I won’t have you put back in bonds if you offend our rules. As soon as you are well enough to travel you will depart our company, but do not expect our doors to be open to you again…”

She nodded wordlessly.

“You will avoid plying your looks upon our brothers. You will not seek conversation with our members, you will not steal, you will not wander the halls, and you will obey any orders given by myself or my fellows. Do you understand?”

She smirked and took a breath, “I understand.”

The Abbot nodded, “Brother Sean?” he called loudly.

A massive human entered into the hospital and Raveres’ eyes widened at his sheer size.

“This is Brother Sean… He has taken a vow of silence but he will watch over you during your stay here. He shall be your protector and your jailor should the need arise.”

She remained staring at the scarred face of the man and he raised an eyebrow.

With a sawing motion the Abbot eventually cut through Raveres’ bonds.

“Now, you are free Druchii.”

She stared in wordless gratitude at her free hands. Embarrassed at the debt she now owed the monks.

“Brother Renaud has made you another tonic and you ought to drink it only after eating. We’re preparing a meal for our guests shortly. When you are strong enough Brother Sean will help you to the great hall.”

Raveres nodded and began stretching her arms happily.

The Abbot hid a pained smile before turning to leave.

In Bretonnian he spoke to Sean, “Watch her Brother… she may be unarmed, but I’m sure that she’s of a power much greater than we can see…”

The giant nodded and took a breath.

…

With just the combination of the herbal tonic and Raveres’ elven constitution she was quickly on the mend.

Not only had she survived drowning, suffered heat stroke, but she had also endured a concussion during her fight with the Estalian captain.

She spent her time quietly recuperating while Brother Sean sat and silently meditated in the corner of the small stone room.

Looking towards a window she caught herself humming the tune that the Squire had been singing earlier.

‘Perhaps the boy would sing it again for us?’ she thought optimistically.

Immediately a feeling of revulsion overcame her, ‘Wait… What? Did I just think that?’

She shut her eyes and sighed in revulsion.

The monk Sean shifted and looked towards the doorway. Down the hall echoed the faint sounds of laughter and the clinging of cutlery and bowls.

Raveres’ elven ears could clearly hear the sounds of a table being set and her stomach rumbled and groaned loudly in anticipation.

Brother Sean looked at his charge and hid a minor smile. He must have heard her stomach pang.

Huffing Raveres threw off the thin sheet which was covering her legs and slowly began moving her tense and fatigued body over the side.

The monk rose and quickly held out his arms to help her exit the small bed.

She tried moving away from his touch and exclaimed, “Gah! Unhand me.”

The monk furrowed a brow and relented, stepping back from her as she tried to stand.

Her legs were still weak and she nearly fell back as she tried to rise. Despite her protests Sean took old of her left arm and began helping her steady.

The monk kept her still while she found the strength to begin walking.

After a few tentative steps she found her confidence and slowly made her way, with Sean’s help, towards the doorway of the infirmary.

“Is the food here any good?” she asked, voicing her thoughts aloud.

Sean shrugged his shoulders in a wordless response; though she thought he had understood her the monk had no knowledge of Druhir, or of any language other than Bretonnian.

Raveres let out a sigh, and under her breath responded to herself; “Figures I suppose… three months at sea eating gruel and the occasional fish has a way of depressing oneself…”

The she-elf limped out the doorway and into the small corridor towards the great hall of the keep turned abbey.

Rounding the corner she came into view of a colourful assembly at one of the long, wooden, tables in the centre of the candle-lit hall.

A round and brightly dressed Arabyan sat beside the Bretonnian knight, Sir Jean, and appeared in deep in conversation as several monks served bowls to their guests and dining brothers.

The Squire Jacque was sitting pensively and was the first to see Raveres and Sean as they rounded the corner.

The youth’s expression softened and he smiled as he announced her arrival.

The few monks at the table turned and Brother Mathias sat up as Sean and the elf came closer.

Raveres’ face was tense and she felt assaulted by the quiet eyes staring at her, but as soon as Mathias arrived to her side holding his hand to assist and welcome her towards the table the low conversation of the men resumed.

The Arabyan however, stood as soon as he saw Raveres, and remained standing as she slowly sat down onto the wooden bench.

He bowed his head before finally speaking, loudly.

The monks, Sir Jean, and Jacque all looked at him with different expressions.

Jacque furrowed his brow, seemingly unappreciative of the guest’s words, Sir Jean hid a smile with his hand, and the monks held back nervous laughter, shuddered in disapproval, or diplomatically listened along.

Raveres’ eyes were wide as the man directed his body language and words towards her, eventually ending his greeting with another bow, much lower than the first.

Sir Jean began to translate the Arabyan’s words and Raveres looked on with muted interest.

“This is Sadalsuud Al Daouk, brother to the Emir Hashan…” Sir Jean smiled, “He says that yours is the most beautiful face he has seen in many months and he wonders…” the knight paused and spoke to the Arabyan.

The bearded man spoke a few words and nodded while twirling his moustache.

Raveres saw that his hands were bejewelled in large rings of gold and silver. Their centres set with precious stones; rubies, emeralds, and yellow diamonds.

Sir Jean stifled a smile as he continued translating, “He wonders if you may do him the great honour of taking his hand in marriage…”

Brother Mathias placed a small bowl in front of the she-elf and she opened her mouth in surprise.

The Arabyan smiled and nodded to her as they locked eyes.

“He says that you would make him the most happy of all merchants who cross the great sand sea if you were to grace him with your elvish heart.”

Raveres chuckled dryly in dumbfounded surprise as she shook her head, “No, not at all…”

He looked to Sir Jean and the Bretonnian translated into Arabyan.

Sadalsuud furrowed his brow and his voice lowered dejectedly as he responded and Sir Jean translated to Druhir;

“He asks; what would it take to win the fair elf’s heart? I can provide her with all the earthly comforts of Ulthuan… and says that she will be dazzled by the opulence of my palace.”

Sir Jean raised a brow as he continued, “Sadalsuud also swears that your children shall be well take care of and that from the day of the marriage forth; you shall want for nothing.”

Raveres looked to either side as the monks quietly whispered and looked on expectantly, seemingly greatly entertained by their guests.

She rolled her eyes and looked at Sir Jean.

“First off, tell this Sadalsuud that I am not from Ulthuan and that were I stronger he would be killed for such a display of ignorance.”

Sir Jean’s face stiffened as he thought; ‘Here is the true Druchii within the elf woman he and Jacque had saved…’

Raveres drew a sharp breath as she continued, “Second; let him know that if he makes any further overtures or dares to pursue marriage with me, I will castrate him while he sleeps.”

Sir Jean bit his tongue, “Is that wise Lady Raveres?”

The merchant furrowed his brow and remained standing, his expression now somewhat concerned.

Raveres sneered, her strength was returning, and with it her general contempt for anyone other than her family.

Sir Jean took in a breath and bid Sadalsuud sit.

The merchant reluctantly lowered back down to the bench and the knight spoke with him candidly;

“Lady Raveres, she’s run afoul of some bad luck as of late. She’s declined your proposal and mentions that she is not a high elf of Ulthuan. I would also add that in her culture courting and proposals are not as…”

Sir Jean smirked and continued, “Passionately declared as in Araby.”

Bringing a hand to stroke his beard Sudalsuud nodded in understanding before narrowing his eyes in concern, “She’s not from Ulthuan?”

Sir Jean shook his head, “No, you see, Lady Raveres is a…”

“Ah! She’s must be a shadow-elf!” Sadalsuud finished.

The merchant’s expression shifted as Sir Jean nodded.

He seemed even keener now, however he was appreciative of Sir Jean’s diplomatic ‘reinterpretation’ of Raveres’ words. Politely he bowed his head in apology to the she-elf and exclaimed:

“My Lady, forgive me my foolishness! I have not encountered many elves in my life, and the few I have all hailed from Ulthuan and were men. I have heard of the beauty of your kind’s women and I was simply struck with your eyes!”

Sir Jean translated and Raveres took a breath as she listened to the Arabyan and then the knight’s Druhir.

“I must offer a thousand apologies for my rudeness…”

Sir Jean raised his brow and tensely awaited Raveres’ response.

Taking another breath she sighed.

‘Is it really that bad? Mother would encourage you to use your beauty over this human… Father would have you act like a member of the black court…’ she nodded.

She bowed her head slightly and wordlessly accepted the apology.

Sir Jean breathed in relief.

“Tell him…”

The knight nodded.

Raveres voice stopped in her mouth as she smelt the warm food that the monks were still serving.

“Nothing… never mind, I accept.”

Sir Jean translated and immediately the two began speaking with each other.

Raveres looked down at the bowl of stew in front of her and felt another rumble of hunger and a strange feeling of desperation.

She hadn’t _really_ eaten since last night’s mess with her fellow officers, but everything that had happened since… she felt hungrier than she’d ever been before.

But the conversation that the knight and the merchant were now engaged in was splitting her attention…

They began exchanging words hastily and the rotund Arabyan looked at her with different expressions, he was at first disappointed, then concerned, but he eventually finished with resolve.

He seemed he was about to speak over to her again but a loud, authoritative, voice cut him off.

“Please, dear guests… there will be time for conversation soon.”

The Abbot stood from the bench and held his hands up as the men quieted.

“Let us first partake in this humble meal and this prayer…”

The monks nodded and the humans all watched attentively.

“May the Lady, the spirits, and all the gods bless us. Let chaos remain away from the lightened places, and may the strong continue to defend the weak. We ask this in our humble names, amen.”

The monks quietly responded ‘amen’ and Raveres watched them uneasily as they bowed their heads in personal prayer.

She hadn’t understood a word of what was said, but assumed it was some kind of rite…

Sir Jean, Jacque, and even the merchant Sadalsuud followed suit in bowing their heads.

As quickly as it began it was over and the humans then took up their spoons to eat.

Somewhat disarmed by the display of humility and religious devotion Raveres felt completely alienated and she hear her body groan, begging for anything to fill it.

‘Just… just eat, leave the concerns of the gods to these dusty old men…’

Raising her wooden spoon she cringed as she began pressing the lip of the utensil to her mouth.

‘It’s sustenance, just eat. Be silent, and you will continue to live. Remember… you are _still_ alive.’

As she poured the stew’s broth and a few chunks of meat into her mouth she was pleasantly surprised that the food was good…

She tried to contain her desire, but the truth was she was ravenous, and the warm stew was better than anything she had eaten during her voyage.

Though the ship’s cook used spices and made fresh fish sauce once a week, this small, simple, meal made by these human monks was as good as anything prepared by her slaves at home in Blacklight Tower.

She greedily filled her spoon as much as was possible and tried to hide her appreciation of the meal as she ate.

…

Watching her face Sir Jean smirked as the Druchii devoured the contents of her bowl, quickly washing the meal down with a cup of water, her face seeming almost disappointed that she was the first finished.

The speed and manner in which she had eaten seemed to sink in and Raveres realised she had made a most unladylike display.

Her features dampened and she became quite obviously embarrassed, though none of the monks seemed to notice, nor would anyone there have blamed her.

The merchant Sadalsuud smacked the knight’s arm and he immediately returned his attention to his neighbour.

“So, she is… of noble blood?”

Despite her discourteous and desperate eating the knight had to agree.

“This is so; she’s from a noble house of Naggarond.” His voice lowered, “Or at least she claims to be… Though I have no doubts that she is of a landed class in some respect, her attitudes and form of speech tell me she’s refined when compared to the other Druchii I’ve met.

Rubbing his bearded chin the Arabyan looked at her and wordlessly nodded.

“What happened to the elf? You said she had run into bad luck?”

Chewing on a chunk of lamb’s meat Sir Jean nodded, “Aye, her ship was attacked and pirated.”

He looked towards the panting and nervous Druchii and asked, “What was the name of the pirate who attacked your company?”

Sir Jean translated and Raveres looked up at the Arabyan.

Her face paled before becoming flush red.

She bit her lip and her jaw moved as she straightened her back.

“Annio-Luis…”

Sadalsuud’s eyes widened as he listened.

“Philipe… De’Bilbali”

The merchant moved in his seat and pointed at Raveres.

“She’s faced that foul demon?!”

Sir Jean furrowed his brow in confusion, “Sadalsuud, you know this name?”

The merchant nodded and Raveres locked eyes with him.

“I do… Ask her; was he aboard a galleon with yellow sails and flying the yellow flag of Sartosa?”

Sir Jean relayed the message and Raveres nodded.

The round merchant balled his hands into fists and loudly brought his right hand onto the table, “She and I share a common enemy!”

Raveres’ was slightly shocked by the loud declaration but Sir Jean immediately translated and she asked, “What has this Annio done to you?”

Sadalsuud nodded and puffed his chest out, all thoughts of bedding the elf having been pushed from his mind, for the moment.

“He has ravaged and pirated, harassed and sunk many of my ships. He has insulted my family, murdered one of my brothers, and the wretch… he sold my brother’s wife into slavery...”

Sir Jean paused as he translated and Raveres bid him continue, she was interested in the connection she now had with the merchant.

“The last that I heard of her she had been sold and taken away across the seas, while she was with child.”

Raveres nodded and looked at the merchant.

She rubbed her chin and smirked, “We share a mutual hatred of this pirate then?”

Sadalsuud nodded, “If I could give away all my jewels to have him brought before me in chains I would…”

His voice became low and he looked upwards while pressing his fingers to his lips in a kiss, “However the gods do not work this way…”

…

‘This is what I need… this is everything I could ask for!’ Raveres began to think, excitement building in her chest.

“Sir Jean, translate this as accurately as possible.”

The knight nodded and Sadalsuud looked down from the ceiling towards the she-elf.

“I sailed to this country with the purpose of trading; buying slaves, luxury goods, and wares. Since my captain was murdered I know not the contacts that he had already in Araby. However I will slit my own wrists if I am to remain here, disgraced, defeated, and destitute.”

The merchant nodded in understanding.

Raveres slowly rose. She sighed and brought her hands to her ears.

She began taking her emerald studs out of her flesh and continued, “I have nothing left of value… but these.”

Her hands shook as she extended them towards the merchant.

“You and I have been shamed by the same man; and I desire nothing but to see him suffer… But we also are in the same business… and I still wish to see the charter under which I sailed here come to fruition… We were to establish a friendly relation here in Araby, and begin a trade route of great value.”

Sir Jean translated and Sadalsuud stood.

The monks quieted and watched uneasily as the merchant’s large hands rose forwards across the table and softly caressed Raveres’.

She kept her eyes staring straight at Sadalsuud and he remained still under her gaze.

When Sir Jean finished translating the Arabyan nodded and responded, switching back to Druhir he told Raveres, “He will not take your gold from you.”

She shuddered and looked down before trying to pull her hand from his grasp.

She immediately felt insulted and her face rose in disgust, “I will not bed you if that is what you seek! I will not trade my flesh in such a way!”

The man shook his head and became penitent, seemingly able to understand her words.

The monks quietly watched as they continued eating.

Sir Jean translated as the merchant offered soothing words.

“Sadalsuud says, he understands. But he wants you to keep your gold nonetheless, he will not take your flesh but he asks instead for your company… You will pay him in kind; service with his caravan and the company of your presence in his travels.”

Raveres finally pulled her hand free and he smiled as she considered the counter proposal.

“He says that if your contract is made over the body of Annio the pirate then you will share a great bond, and gold will surely flow into both your coffers.”

She stood and her breath became heavy as she noticed the tense audience of the monks.

“I…” she shook her shoulders and looked at Sir Jean, “What does he expect me to do?”

…

Sir Jean repeated the question, “She asks what you want her to do.”

The Arabyan nodded and stroked his beard.

“If she expects me to consider her a client, and if she wants to establish trade with me I need to know, nay, I need to _see_ her resolve. I understand she has no capital, but her jewels belong on her body. I presume the pirate took everything else of value?”

Raveres nodded when the message was relayed.

Sadalsuud smiled,

“Then we shall join together, recover her coin, sate our honour and begin trading as would please the gods and great prophets!”

He stepped over the bench and began walking around the table towards the she-elf.

Raveres’ eyes widened as he approached and she looked to Sir Jean for explanation.

“He’s coming to kiss your cheeks and embrace hands.”

She nervously stood still as the Arabyan held out his right hand.

“It’s how Arabyan’s make an accord; it would doom your chances for you to refuse his great generosity right now Druchii.”

Raveres felt flustered but nodded in understanding and compliance as she quickly moved her ear studs into her left palm.

Tentatively extending her right hand Sadalsuud wrapped his large fingers around hers and tightly squeezed.

Then he leaned forwards and pressed his moustached lips to either of her cheeks, planting two quick kisses.

After this he slapped his left hand to his chest and loudly announced to the audience of monks while he pressed his right hand on to Raveres’ shoulder.

Sir Jean translated, “He says that you are now agreed.”

The she-elf looked at the touch uneasily, but she didn’t know what else to do. The Arabyan smiled widely and bowed his head to Raveres and she felt compelled again to mirror the curtesy.

“He says that you must now share a drink together…”

Raveres smirked and let a small smile show. ‘Finally something familiar…’

Sadalsuud widely mirrored her, pleased that she had finally softened in her expression.

“Well, Sir Jean… I suppose I ought to be grateful for your services?”

The knight chuckled as the merchant leaned to the table and held up their two cups.

“I suppose…”

Extending the water to Raveres the merchant hit his cup to hers and raised it to his lips. She nodded and they drank together. Formally sealing their agreement; for Sadalsuud at least.

…


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy spreads like a poison as Raveres contemplates her ‘arrangement’ with the Arabyan.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Six

Jacque didn’t like the way that Sadalsuud had spoken to Raveres.

He didn’t like the way he _looked_ at her either…

Though the boy didn’t understand Arabyan he was still able to discern from Raveres’ reactions and Sir Jean’s own demeanour as he translated that they were at first exchanging strange words.

‘But then they’ve seemed to have agreed to something? And then that f-fat Arabyan… he’s a lowly merchant! He-he kissed and actually dared to touch her!’

Jacque furrowed his brow and tried to bear his discomfort as quietly as possible; thankfully the loud Arabyan and the interesting foreign elf stole all the monks’ attention.

If eating petulantly was an art form, then the young squire Jacque was well on his way to becoming a master…

When the small dinner had finally ended the monks departed off to their work as Sir Jean and the Arabyan merchant continued to speak with the Druchii Raveres.

Jacque was subsequently left to his own devices, and while he was still reeling from his earlier scolding and punishment the squire wasn’t yet ready to speak with his master.

Unfortunately this of course meant that he wasn’t going to be able to speak with _her._

He was disappointed because now she was alive… she was walking, speaking confidently. Her body breathed naturally and she was restored to some of her natural health and beauty, yet _he was unable to talk to her!_

Worse than that he was unable to try and speak to her as her beauty had made her appear to him; a maiden…

If Jacque was to be a knight, then courting and speaking with noble-women of all races, from around the wide world was to be expected.

Yet here he was, barred from his first…

Technically she was also the first maiden he’d ever kissed…

‘Does my aunt on my name-day count?’ he wondered, ‘No, no… surely first kisses are different, they’re between a maiden and man who are neither intended nor already wed…’

He nodded to himself.

‘So yes! I suppose she is my first kiss!’ he smirked to himself. ‘And how knightly a kiss it was, an actual kiss of life… just like in the stories!’

Raveres had said something and after it was translated the Arabyan roared with laughter.

The noise brought Jacques attention back to ‘his’ lady and he rolled his eyes.

Though he was convinced that his envy and his petulant mood was hidden Sir Jean quietly shook his head in disappointment as he stood in between the merchant and the dark-elf.

‘By the Lady… this is an unfair cheat if ever I saw one!’ the youth whined.

Jacque must have missed what happened after the merchant and Raveres embraced but Sir Jean eventually ended his role as translator and began speaking with the Father Abbot Ulkus.

After a very showy bow and goodbye the merchant departed the hall and whistled happily as he exited the monastery, returning to his caravan, guardsmen, and servants.

With that Sir Jean spoke with the she-elf and she begrudgingly nodded before Sir Jean and the Abbot slowly began exiting the hall towards a corridor.

Jacque smiled, now Raveres was alone…

She quietly left the hall and the youth became excited that he’d be able to follow her.

‘It’s okay if I can’t speak with her… I… ha I wouldn’t know what to say! So, so just her sight is enough…’ He nodded to himself.

Sitting up from the table his hopes of being alone with the elf were dashed; the massive monk Sean sat up as well, he followed the she-elf and Jacque sank back down to the bench as his thoughts raced.

The squire pursed his lips in frustration; ‘Gods damn it! That knight must have been assigned her guard…’

‘Gah! What cack is this?’

At dinner he’d hidden his gaze as best he could from the others, but he tried eyeing Raveres as often as possible.

Just to see her breathe or the shape of her hands… Any movement she made on her own caused his heart to flutter with a strange excitement.

When he first watched her at his and Sir Jean’s fire he was afraid she was going to die, but now?

She was flush with life; and though her skin was naturally pale, her cheeks would often redden with her emotion and her eyes… her eyes had a bright spark to them and she looked around with this strange sense of command.

It was as if she was deep in consultation amongst her thoughts, hatching battle plans and thinking of how to order her troops.

Though she was of the fairer sex, the fact that she was in armour when he saved her made Jacque constantly think of her in a martial sense, that together with her stern authoritarian gaze reminded him of how he imagined the Fey Enchantress must have looked…

Despite Sir Jean’s warnings the youth had become completely smitten with the foul Druchii.

Itching in his seat he finally stood up, ‘I’m not about to let some dusty old monk stop me! I’ve got to follow her!’

Raveres had exited the hall and her monk guard followed her towards a large doorway; the thick wooden portal had been left ajar and wind breathed into the keep from between the stone and iron covered wood.

It led to the castle’s small herb garden and the mute Sean followed her closely as she slipped through the door from Jacques’ view.

‘I’m not being left behind to wash dishes!’ the youth confirmed.

Despite the monks’ who were clearing the table bidding him to stay and assist them, the squire Jacque sprinted across the hall and darted after the elf and through the open doorway.

The Brother Sean heard the protests of his fellow monks and the loud clapping of the squire’s boots on the stone floor.

Smirking to himself he stepped to the side of the door and waited for the boy.

Pushing his leg out at the perfect time the giant monk easily tripped the small squire.

…

Falling forwards with a loud shuffle and yelp Raveres quickly turned her head to see the young Bretonnian now sprawled onto the thin grass of the garden oasis behind her.

“Gah! Curse your eyes!” he swore at the monk.

Wordlessly the former knight reached towards the squire and raised a fist.

Raveres stepped backwards and clicked her tongue.

Jacque looked away from the scarred and grotesque face of the silent monk and towards ‘his’ she-elf.

She spoke in her exotic language but immediately stopped herself, realising that neither Jacque nor Sean would understand her.

She huffed in frustration and looked at the monk sternly.

Though they didn’t share a language he understood her and eventually he complied; releasing his grip from Jacque’s loose fitting tabard.

Raveres waved the youth to follow her and she slowly turned towards the small garden.

Sean straightened back up and stepped backwards to press his back against the stone wall of the keep.

Quickly jumping to his feet Jacque then stuck his tongue out petulantly at the mute and smiled.

Eagerly turning to see his she-elf the young squire followed Raveres reverently.

As she stepped ahead of him his eyes felt compelled to watch her legs; each step she took was graceful, or at least it seemed so to him. And though she was wearing simple darkly coloured loose fitting trousers, the hint of her legs’ shape through the material was strangely titillating.

Now stepping towards the centre of the small herb garden Raveres stopped in front of an old stone, it was well-worn along its surface, indicating its use over the years as a simple seat.

Sighing loudly she turned to sit and locked eyes with the young squire.

He stopped in his tracks and felt the heavy weight of her gaze.

She leaned backwards and took in a breath through her nose as she straightened her back. She snapped her fingers and cleared her throat as she pointed at the squire.

His face immediately dropped and his body felt cool, ‘Oh damn… by the Lady, perhaps this was a bad idea?’

Then, like a cool breeze, Jacque was surprised by sound.

Raveres hummed a few bars of a song and the squire furrowed his brow in confusion. Then he recognised the tune, it was the one he had sung while they were on horseback.

He nodded and smiled as he remembered.

She finished and sighed again, somehow a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

Then the squire thought, ‘wait, does she wants me to sing?’

His confused expression received its answer and Raveres nodded while pointing and gesticulating towards him.

He cleared his throat and she shut her eyes as she relaxed on her improvised seat.

The youth began slowly, nervously finding his voice as he began singing for his audience of two.

He was nervous somewhat that the mute was there in attendance as well, but he’d sung for audiences before, taverns full of drunk and rowdy patrons, noble halls and castles full of sycophantic courtiers, a mute and a single she-elf would be a walk in the park.

The song she’d requested was one that Jacque’s mother had sung to him as a babe and he loved it dearly, he was glad that she had enjoyed it the first time he’d sung it, and now he was happy indeed that she’d remembered it since their riding.

Though it was a somewhat melancholic tune the young squire always felt a rush of confidence and emotion whenever he sang it… but since he set out with Sir Jean he had longed to obtain a lute. Though his mother had long since died he knew that she would have been proud that her little song was set to real music…

The young squire often lamented his want of an instrument and Sir Jean told him that perhaps someday soon Jacque might have enough coin of his own to buy a minstrel’s old or unwanted lute.

But for now he made due with his voice, and most people though it was just fine as it was.

…

Raveres felt the cool breeze across her face as the sun began to set.

The young squire’s song was exactly what she had wanted to hear and she let the weight of her situation melt away as she enjoyed it.

When the boy finished she opened her eyes and cooed.

He smiled and stepped forwards, like a hound pup.

‘Such a fool…’ she remarked, ‘Yet, I wonder what thoughts he hides behind those green eyes of his…’

Jacque’s face began to blush under her prolonged gaze and he nervously darted his eyes away as he adjusted his hand’s placement on his hilt and belt.

Raveres finally realised and her eyes widened.

‘Oh the little devil!’

She smiled and then let out a chuckle as she brought a hand to her mouth.

Jacque’s expression dropped and he realised that he must have been found out.

His mouth opened and he nervously stuttered before quickly turning to flee.

“Wait young Breton…” she called.

With a grumble Raveres stood and stepped after the squire.

His face was bright red and his pace increased as he tried to run.

Jumping over the edge of the herb garden Jacque made for the door way and loudly marched over the stone floor to escape Raveres’ presence.

“Wait!” she called again futilely.

She stopped as soon as she reached the door way, but Jacque had speedily disappeared from view.

Turning her face to the side Raveres looked up at the monk Sean and he smirked knowingly.

He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

Raveres nodded and the two shared a wordless conversation.

“Well… big one.” She eventually declared.

Walking back towards the garden she stooped and began to inspect the various plants which grew strongly in the small plot of earth.

“What all is in here?”

The monk eyed her with concern and stepped forwards, to stop her if necessary. He tensed as his thoughts confirmed; ‘She’s an elf, there’s no telling what she might be able to concoct with even the most harmless of herbs and plants.’ He thought.

…

“Jacque!” Sir Jean called.

“Where are you boy?”

He huffed as he pressed his hands to his sides.

Abbot Ulkus chuckled and shook his head, “It matters naught. You can share our conversation with him whenever you find him…”

The knight begrudgingly nodded and followed the Abbot towards the monastery’s scriptorium.

As the two elderly men entered they were greeted by the loud scratching of the monks at work transcribing new, beautiful, tomes.

“We finished the order that your lord master asked of us. Each volume has been pressed and lined in fine leathers, the words are gilt, and the script is some of the finest that we have produced this year.”

Sir Jean nodded, “Duke Meroux will be ecstatic…”

The Abbot nodded, “We are always pleased to hear our work is appreciated. Now it is far too late in the day for us to saddle your horses and send you riding into the night.”

The Abbot handed Sir Jean one of the exquisitely made books and the knight reverently opened it to the first page.

“So naturally we shall offer our hospitality to you and you squire as long as you would desire.”

Sir Jean smiled and shut the book before respectfully laying it back down on the Abbot’s desk.

“I am humbled as always to accept…”

The Abbot smiled and sat in his chair while inviting the knight to sit opposite him.

“How is the Duke?”

Sir Jean wearily sighed, “Showing his age… He’s all but ready to depart this world, but this request, as well as a few other matters yet keeps him tethered.”

Abbot Ulkus nodded, “And yourself Sir Jean? I’m sure the boy has been trying your limits…”

The knight nodded, “He has… but this matter with the elf has certainly shown me that he needs a younger man to follow…”

Sighing loudly he leaned back in his chair, “Oh Abbot… by the Lady I miss Bretonnia.”

The two shared a laugh before continuing their conversation to more banal subjects.

…

With his heart beating loudly Jacque had found a hideaway in which to privately let out his frustration.

He climbed the outer wall of the castle and entered into one of the few towers which still stood. Its walls had eroded from the desert wind and it was a pale imitation of its former self but it gave him enough seclusion to feel comfortable.

He beat his fists into an old and worn board which was once part of the tower’s door and he panted as he felt his emotion and a strange passion overtake him.

He tried to remember his prayers and he was doing everything he could to push the sight of Raveres’ smile from his mind.

“You barely know her!” he exclaimed.

He shook and rubbed his hands through his short hair.

Sitting on a pile of rubble in the centre of the tower he stuttered and tried wrestling with his thoughts.

‘You’ve thought of nothing but lust and lewdness since meeting her… you, you kissed her…’

“Gah!” he exclaimed.

“No, it wasn’t a kiss! She was… she was drowned, I revived her… no more than that!”

His mind seemed poised against him as he thought, ‘But have you not thought of her taste since? When she was pressed against you in the saddle, did you not wish to feel her bare breast against your skin?’

He shook his head.

‘Did you not grow hard simply at the memory of seeing her bare body?’

“Shut up!” he called futilely, “Stop! And leave me be!”

He shook and his thoughts began trying to shift the blame, ‘She’s cursed me! She must have!’

His voice dropped lowly, “Lady… please… help me…”

He dropped from his seat and clasped his hands together tightly as he began praying as hard as he could.

“Please… I… I don’t know what to do; I can’t stop thinking of her! She’s evil… She’s a dark creature but… oh gods I… Am I condemned?”

He shook his head and shut his eyes tightly, “Am I given to chaos now? Am I… am I being twisted by ruinous powers? Is this how it begins?”

Doubt crept into his heart and his thoughts shifted again, ‘But how could she be evil? She’s beautiful! She’s… she’s fair… her heart seems so pure… an evil creature ought to show its evilness!’

He panted and began sobbing as he shook, “I’ve seen evildoers before… I’ve seen the skaven… I’ve seen _real_ witches, she… she’s…”

He continued trying to pray and loudly bemoaned his current tribulation.

The more he thought about her, the worse he felt, and the more false guilt built in his chest.

His mind eventually began looking for anything he might have done wrong to deserve the way he was now feeling,

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry for disrespecting Sir Jean and his lessons… I… I’m sorry for being proud. I was proud that I had saved her, that’s it! I was… I was too proud and now I am cursed for it!”

…

Outside and below the tower the monk Mathias pursed his lips and took in a quiet breath. Listening to the young squire he couldn’t help but feel torn.

Eventually the monk decided to leave the youth, ‘we each must bare our own trials…’ he thought.

‘The boy must figure it out by himself…’

The older monk nodded and walked back into the monastery as the world began to darken. The sun was almost gone from the sky and the cool night was beginning to fall over the land.

‘I want that elf in a room under lock and key… I know the boy is exaggerating, but I do not like her ‘deal’ with the Arabyan, nor her looks nonetheless…’

Shuffling across the inner courtyard of the castle-monastery her took hold of his ring of keys and shuddered wearily.

“Oh by the Lady… this life I lead…”

He chuckled dryly as he entered into the main hall,

“One would think that a life this far from the court at Couronne would be devoid of intrigue...”

He shook his head and called loudly into the keep, “Where’s the she-elf?”

…

As night fell Raveres was led back to the infirmary. And she seethed under her faux imprisonment.

“I know this is not ideal…” the elderly monk declared, “But you must understand the lengths that we have gone in merely taking you in.”

Raveres stepped through the door and let out a breath.

“It is of no consequence…”

The monk Mathias pursed his lips and held his tongue.

Turning to Brother Sean he stopped the giant from entering the small infirmary after his charge.

In Bretonnian he spoke and shook his head, “Leave her in the room, I shall lock the door but… she ought to be left alone.”

The mute brother nodded and stepped back.

Switching back to Druhir he addressed Raveres.

“You shall be given the evening and the room to yourself. We rise early here and we shall have a humble break to our fast.”

He smiled politely, “As our guest we shall see you fed, along with the others…”

Raveres stepped towards her bed.

“We shall then bid you well and you shall depart these walls.”

Sitting onto the thin cushion underneath her Raveres let out a breath and nodded at the old man.

“Monk…”

He raised an eyebrow, “yes?”

She opened her mouth and her eyes looked to the monk’s side. She smiled to herself before shaking her head slightly.

“Never mind… A fleeing fancy,”

The monk furrowed his brow and was about to ask a question before thinking better of it.

Closing the door the monk pushed his small iron key into its lock and turned it. If she wanted, or if anyone inside really wanted they would have been able to get out.

Locking the door was more of a formality and symbolic practise than anything.

The giant brother Sean bowed his head to his superior and the elder monk nodded before turning to depart.

…

As the door shut and locked after the monk Raveres quickly noticed that her room was devoid of a candle.

After the wooden portal closed the light provided in the hallway from a nearby torch sconce was dampened except for some flickering tongues of orange through the tight cracks in between the aged wooden boards and along the uneven stone floor underneath.

Now alone in her solitary cell the she-elf looked around and contemplated what she’d do for the next while before eventually sleeping.

Beside her was one of the room’s few thin, arrow-slit, windows.

‘These bloody humans...’ She groaned while as she rolled her eyes. Standing up from her bed she walked towards the small view of the outside world.

The world was dark, and though night had fallen she could hear voices and laughter outside the abbey’s walls.

‘From those traders I imagine…’

She moved around to try and see over the crest of the worn walls for a potential sight of Sadalsuud’s caravan; the tents, the fires, or the camels.

But it had gotten dark enough and the walls appeared to still be tall enough that she couldn’t see anything but the stone in the bluish light of the evening.

Over the sea of sand and rock she seemed to be able to still see shimmering off the horizon, giving the illusion of the coast. Thinking about the open ocean made her sigh and reminded her painfully of her lack of a Druchii crew, or even passage home.

Looking above the horizon, towards the heavens, she saw that the air was clean and devoid of smoke or fog. Unlike her home, with every house burning large fires, and the furnaces and foundries of the workmen roaring day and night the sky above this hamlet was clear.

Like when she was sailing the stars shone brilliantly overhead like hundreds of thousands of jewels, with nothing obstructing or masking their beauty and their light.

Distant clouds of nebulae and formations, constellations of the gods, and pictures forged in the heavens by limitless and great old powers were laid bare for her to see.

Being forced to look at it through the small slit window somehow made the stars and night sky look almost poignant…

She’d seen it clear skies before… but here she was a prisoner; and however brief she was to remain a prisoner the fact remained that she was only able to see outside of her small cell through this sliver of a window.

And it was that she was in a state of bondage to _humans_ more than anything which irritated her most.

‘Bondage…’ she looked away from the window in embarrassment at herself.

‘I should have killed that Mariana, maybe then Khaine would have blessed me with victory.’

A flash of the nude human slave went through Raveres’ mind as she thought about her former property for the first time since coming ashore.

‘She waved at me along with that fool Annio Bilbali as I drowned… _She waved!_ ’

Turning from the window Raveres brought her fist down to the surface of a nearby bedside table.

‘I’ll kill them both…’

She nodded and turned back towards the window.

“I’ll kill you! I swear it! Before Khaine lord of murder, before Drakira the goddess of vengeance… before any who’ll hear my plea!”

“I will gut that Bilbali and I will feed him to…”

She struggled to find an animal disgusting, grotesque, and fearsome enough to be appropriate, but eventually she lost her train of thought and her words faltered.

Groaning in aggravation she exclaimed “Gah! What does it matter?! I’ll slaughter him and dance over his dying corpse!”

She began pacing the room, nodding and smiling to herself as she pictured her revenge.

“That ship will burn, and all those damned pirates shall hang! But that captain…’

She threw her head back and her hands shook at her sides.

“Oh and that slave…”

Soon her thoughts began a conversation amongst themselves.

‘You think she’s not free now? You even agreed to free her… you _swore_ to free her.’

‘That’s what got you into this mess, and here you are daring to ask the gods to intervene again?’

Raveres opened her eyes widely and brought a hand to her mouth.

“I…”

‘Damn it all! I… I didn’t… I haven’t invoked any gods by rites; I haven’t made any promises other than seeing him dead…’

She began nodding and exhaling in relief.

‘That’s it…’

“Okay, I’ve merely spoken in anger. I’ve sworn to kill them; I’ve made no claim as to how I’d divide any offerings…”

She smiled to herself.

“I’m in the clear…”

Calming herself down Raveres realised just how religiously concerned she was for her own sake.

With a nervous laugh she considered the lectures she’d received as a child. Both her parents and the occasional sermon from a Death Hag atop the steps of Khaine’s temple in Blacklight Tower served to instill a very tangible fear in her of the religious.

Of course in her teens she resisted and had her brief rejection of the Druchii cult, but now? She feared the gods genuinely; having brushed so closely with death and failure she was not about to do anything now to make an enemy of the divine, in any respect.

…

Issuing a few meditative prayers and reflections Raveres felt as if she had satisfactorily addressed her earlier semi-theological quandary and shook the worry out of her mind as she returned to daydreaming about how she’d torture and kill her enemies…

In the darkness of her ‘cell’ she began thinking about her relatively low body count so far and how it was about to increase exponentially before this ‘adventure’ was done.

Her first kill, the young elf warrior, came back to her and she shuddered as she thought about how it had affected her.

Nothing she’d been taught had told her about the strange weight upon one’s heart after battle.

It was strange but when compared to the killing of Lieutenant Hathan, or several of the human pirates stupid enough to have tried engaging her when they boarded the _Witches Wail,_ it was her first which was the most visceral and affecting.

Shaking her head from side to side she tried to push the anxious feelings out of her body while focusing on the faces of Annio-Luis and the little trollop Mariana.

Those two waving at her as she swam for shore…

The sight filled her with anger and once again she resumed her previous mood while pacing in the darkness.

“Oooh I’ll strip him bare and run lashes across his flesh!”

Her eyes widened as a strange feeling filled her chest.

“I… I’ll scourge him within an inch of his life…”

She laughed, “Then I’ll finally… I’ll… should I set him alight? Listen to him scream and burn?”

She shuddered and her body shook.

“I… oh! I don’t know, perhaps I’ll tie weights to him and throw him off his own ship?”

She cackled at the irony as her mind began to race.

‘This… are these the children which Mother spoke of?” she paused and recollected before smiling realising the significance of her new thoughts, “These are the plots, the designs; the desires of a _true Druchii_!’

She nodded and grinned widely.

“Mother! I will see these children to maturity… I…”

She laughed and sat down on her bed.

‘I’m becoming… your daughter is becoming a Druchii woman…’

She laid back and cackled as her mind swirled with ideas and possibilities.

Her mental sadism and dark desires began to expand to ludicrous bounds as she began thinking more unrealistically.

Envisioning herself at the head of a host of warriors as they put pirates to the sword and took back what she had lost…

She had eventually worked herself into a mental frenzy of excitement as the night wore on.

…

‘W-what of the woman?’ She eventually asked herself.

Through the material of her clothing Raveres had begun to touch her body excitedly as she pictured and imagined the realisation of her revenge.

Her eyes opened widely and she smiled.

Her hands stopped and then she cooed; “Oh, hers will be a symphony of pain…”

Tentatively her hands returned between her legs.

‘Will it?’ she then asked herself retroactively.

‘Why not?! After all she overstepped her place; she’s no doubt been revealing your secrets to the captain…’

She tightened her teeth and hissed through her lips as she began masturbating.

“My hands around her throat… I’ll choke her to- no…”

She moaned as she began imagining the tanned flesh of the Estalian woman under her body.

“No… w-what should I do then?”

‘I…’

Her fingers went up to her trousers’ waist and pulled down the clothing to her knees.

“I… don’t know!”

She huffed loudly and threw her head back.

“I’ve been shamed! I… I lost… I was- he could have killed me? I… Oh gods!”

Quieting herself she bit into her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as she worked herself up.

‘What is going on here? I… I’m so… I… oh fuck it! Fuck it! _Fuck me!_ ’

She licked her lips and groaned in strange satisfaction, “Yes… fuck me! Fuck me, I deserve it, _I deserve it!_ ”

Her eyes watered and she threw her head back while holding the edge of the bed with her left hand.

“I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them all! _Vengeance, blood, glory!_ ”

Riding her own hand she shuddered and shook with ecstasy, “I am Raveres… and I will become a Druchii Tyrant!”

She chuckled at her strange outpouring of honesty, and became completely taken by her own passion.

“I… oh yes!”

She didn’t care for shame or propriety; she didn’t care if her guard heard her. ‘ _Fuck him!’_ She thought, _‘Fuck these old celibate fools! Let them hear me and despair… knowing they will never touch or enjoy me…’_

_‘I don’t care…_ ’ she panted, “I don’t care if I wake them all!”

Pushing herself onto her fingers she enveloped her index and middle fingers into her warmth.

“I will take everything I want… I’ll kill those f-fuckers and… oh fuck yes! I’ll wear their skulls! _Yes! I’ll bring their c-co…_ no! Too soon! Too soo-“

Falling to the bed she shook and shuddered as a violent orgasm rode over her skin.

“No… I…” she took in a breath sharply and her eyes fluttered, “I… _oh fuck it…_ ”

Rather than resist and prolong her masturbation she mentally and physically gave in, weakly collapsing under shivering pleasure.

Usually such a premature climax would have drawn her ire, but she was welcome for the ecstasy. Anything to alleviate her current situation was a looked toward distraction.

Maintaining her position she kept her limbs still as her body twitched around her fingers and she enjoyed the ‘full’ feeling inside her vagina. Remaining motionless, breathing deeply, and happily enjoying the high from her orgasm she cooed and moaned lowly.

Slowly removing her fingers from her body she twitched, shaking out her legs, and quietly sighed.

Bringing her arm towards her face she smelt her scent off her fingers and smirked as she exhaled a heavy breath.

‘Am I an odd Druchii?’ she asked herself.

Dropping her arm to her side her whole body felt tired from the exercise she put herself through and she laughed dryly.

‘I suppose I’ll need rest now… morning will come soon and I’ll have to travel with…’

She raised her lip in disgust and cringed, “That fat Arabyan...”

Taking hold of the bed sheet underneath her she groaned and complained wordlessly as she moved her fatigued body.

‘Yes, yes he’s fat… and bearded, and a revolting human but… he’s a means to an end… We’ll have to play at a supplicant to assure our safe travel but it will all be worth it.’

She nodded and reached for her pillow in the dark.

“It will all be worth it…”

She giggled into the material and closed her eyes as she tried to catch her breath.

“I can see it.”

“I can just see it,” she moaned, “Ugh, but everything until then…”

She rolled under the thin sheet and kicked off her trousers completely.

‘Gods, this is tedious…’

…

When the morning came it was quick, just as the monk had said.

Rudely Raveres was ripped from her pleasant sleep and reminded of several discomforting truths:

First; that her bed was lumpy and uncomfortable, the sheet she was wrapped in was some kind of amateur, rough spun, wool and was irritatingly abrasive and thin…

Second; that she was not home… She was a million miles away, in some foreign castle, surrounded not by slaves but ‘pious’ human men.

And third; she was not anywhere close to her goals, and now she’d have to work. Intensely, without faltering, without erring, and without slacking…

The door unlocked loudly and was pushed open unceremoniously. Brother Mathias entered and took just one step into the room before raising his voice in Druhir to rouse Raveres from her slumber.

“Dark-elf! Wake up!”

She sat with a start and at first felt panicked, but as the rigours of sleep waned she remembered where she was and who was speaking.

Rubbing her eyes and adjusting her blouse to better conceal her bosom she began tying the loose cords of her open V-neck and the monk averted his eyes politely as his voice softened.

“We’ve prepared a meal for you and Sir Jean. You shall exit our walls as soon as you are done and ready for travel…”

Raveres nodded and finished tightening the cords into a small bow.

The elder monk pursed his lips and turned to leave.

“Monk…” she called.

He stopped midstride and turned.

“Would you be at all willing to sell me some of your herbs?”

Her furrowed his brow and fully turned back to face the Druchii.

“That’s an odd request… What use does a lady such as yourself have for sage, lemongrass…” he chuckled, “Princes’ poppy, or black-heart rose?”

“Are you planning to make that poor squire a bouquet as some kind of apology? Or you…”

His smile faded and he grew quiet.

“You needn’t concern yourself with what I need or what I intend with what I buy. I only ask if it would be permissible.”

“Poison, that’s what you intend with our plants…”

She rolled her eyes, “As I said you needn’t feel concern.”

Then her expression changed, “But what was that mention of the squire? I have nothing to apologise for. He ran from me before I dismissed him, he’s the one ought to apologise.”

The monk opened his mouth but stopped himself and quickly changed his words. ‘She doesn’t know? Oh by the Lady… I can’t wait till they’ve left this is too much for me.’

“It matters naught, what do you even have to sell?” he looked down at her chest and curled his lip in annoyance.

“And don’t you forget the Abbot’s rules! We cannot be swayed by offers or temptations of the flesh!”

Raveres squinted and cringed at the sudden loudness of the monk’s voice.

‘Gods… that was too loud, too early, for my bloody ears!’ she brought a hand to the left side of her jaw as she relaxed and popped her inner ear.

“I haven’t forgotten, nor would I disgrace myself by letting _you,_ or your ilk, see my bare flesh…”

Moving her hand from her jaw to her ear she flicked her gold and silver jewelry.

“I have gold you old fool. Gods, with all your celibacy and masculine energies in here I dare say you’re the ones with the dirty desires. _Not me_.”

Mathias’ cheeks became red under his stubble in embarrassment and he sputtered, “I… w-well gold is never, amiss… I-I’d have to ask the Abbot.”

Looking towards his sandals he shuffled his weight and turned to leave, becoming more flustered than he would have liked.

Raveres furrowed her brow and watched the odd display in front of her with confusion.

“Just… come to the main hall! By the Lady!” with the exclamation he finally exited the room and Raveres looked out the door as a deep laugh began to rise in her stomach.

Though still sore and somewhat fatigued she became consumed by a genuine fit of laughter.

Throwing her sheet off she attempted to stand before stumbling from her bed to the stone floor.

Brother Sean entered with his arms outstretched, concern on his face as the elf continued to laugh and writhe around.

Then he saw she was devoid of bottom clothing and her smooth bare flesh was exposed to the air. He stopped and his face became bright red, like that of a tomato.

She occasionally whimpered and clutched her stomach, but the laughter continued and she rolled from side to side on her back after seeing the monks’ face.

The mute monk’s mouth opened and he struggled to understand what was happening.

Eventually she calmed down and her laughter dissipated to a chuckle before finally petering out.

Bringing a hand to wipe her right eye she groaned loudly and grumbled in pain as she extended her arms towards Sean.

Instead of helping her stand he had located and picked up her trousers.

Raveres grabbed the clothes as the monk averted his eyes and began pulling them up her legs, as she spoke

“Oh don’t worry yourself about it…” she declared as she stood.

“You’ve just got a strange bunch of men here is all…” she chuckled, “It’s a good thing the squire’s departing with us!”

She punched the giant’s arm and chuckled while slowly walking past the silent monk.

“If they’re this itchy at my presence then the poor squire’s got no chance if he were to stay here! Ugh… you humans; devoid of some kind of release you become quite the licentious creatures don’t you?”

The mute monk moved his brow but maintained his dumb expression of confusion and red embarrassment.

Sighing Raveres came to the door and shook her head, “Never mind…”

…

Jacque awoke to the noise of cocks loudly cawing.

He’d remained in his tower all night, going through different emotions, losing his composure, praying, beating his hands against wooden boards, until finally he collapsed and slept on the floor, clutching his short sword.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he scratched his head and shook off his discomfort rather quickly.

‘Are we okay now?’ he asked himself.

He sniffed and took a breath in through his nose loudly.

Rising to a stand he held his sword and directed the blade into his sheath.

‘I think… I think I’m okay now.’

He stretched his arms and paused for a moment, staring at the ground in shame and embarrassment.

‘Oh by the Lady Jacque… come on… it’s morning I’m sure we’ll have to go now.’

Groaning he rolled his shoulders and adjusted how his tabard was sitting over his tunic underneath.

As Sir Jean’s squire the tabard he wore was emblazoned with his master’s sigil and heraldry.

He looked over the faded colours of the elder knight and he pursed his lips.

‘Someday this’ll be my shield, and these will be my colours… Just imagine that?’ he smiled and began making for the door of the tower.

‘Sir Jacque… of…’ he paused.

The young squire hadn’t a family name. He’d known this, but it wasn’t an issue, there were many knights who hadn’t family names… They were of Bastonne, Avignon, Anjou, many county or duchy names became the names of their knights…

His eyes widened as he began his quick climb down the rocky ruin of the inside of the wall.

‘Sir Jacque of Araby!’

He smiled and his day dream escalated, ‘So great were his deeds as a youth he was knighted by the king with the distinction of Araby as his epithet!’

He innocently giggled and nodded as he jumped the last two feet from the wall to the ground.

“Sir Jacque of Araby…” he whispered under his breath.

As he crossed the courtyard to the entrance of the abbey Sir Jean appeared out of the door, brow furrowed and drawing a deep breath.

“Jac-“ stopping mid yell he smiled and chuckled, “Oh there you are boy!”

The squire nodded and lowered his face shyly.

“Here I am master…” he responded meekly.

The knight sighed in relief as his squire walked closer.

“I’d like to…” raising his face to look at his lord he took a breath and continued, “I would like to apologise my lord, for my absence and, and my behaviour… I-“

Sir Jean raised his hand, “There’s nothing to forgive my boy. I was a squire once too, you forget.”

Jacque’s expression softened and the two shared a knowing exchange.

“Come now… our hosts have graciously prepared us a meal before our departure.”

At the knights beckoning the squire followed inside the stone keep.

Quietly Jacque asked, “Is the merchant joining us?”

Sir Jean hid a smile as he responded, “No, no. He’s helping his people break their camp.”

Wrapping his arm around Jacque’s shoulder patriarchically he gave the youth a sideways hug.

“But we will be travelling with them…”

Jacque groaned and threw his head back in a childish display.

“Hey, hey. Hush my son… We’re heading the same direction, and Raveres will need my services as translator. Neither Sadalsuud nor any of his people speak her tongue…”

Jacque nodded and remained silent as they came to the populated great hall.

All the monks had awoken and were chatting jovially with one another as they sat along the benches in the hall.

Each table was occupied with trenchers of bread and bowls of warm soup. Baskets of boiled eggs and large serving bowls of dates were being passed around as the monks invited their fellow Bretonnians to sit with them.

Remaining close to his masters side Jacque sat together with Sir Jean and continued their conversation.

“After our delivery… what will become of the elf?”

Sir Jean thanked a monk as the robed elder offered him a bowl and bread.

He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow.

“I know naught… She’s intent on revenge and Sadalsuud is most keen to help her realise it.”

Jacque had long been brought up to regard the word ‘revenge’ or ‘vengeance’ with disdain and to turn his nose up at it.

“Nothing good can come of revenge Sir Jean… we ought to dissuade her!”

The knight sighed and took a sip of the soup.

“There are things which I have no doubt may be redeemed… I have heard tales from the north of Kislev of chaos warriors throwing down their arms and turning to lives of penitence…”

He broke off some bread and Jacque received a bowl from a neighbouring monk as well.

“I have even heard wild tales of penitent witches, cured vampires… but I don’t know if goodness is something that is an actual option open to a dark-elf.”

Jacque furrowed his brow in disappointment but ate silently.

“You see Jacque… when a race, a whole race of creature, has been mired in dark powers, twisted by betrayal and fed a constant diet of bloody words and deeds…”

He leaned back and huffed.

“I just… I know she seems fair to the eye, but…” he smirked and quieted. “I don’t know I suppose, I’m just an old knight now Jacque… What do I know anymore?”

The squire furrowed his brow and began to voice protest at the knight’s attitude when Raveres appeared into the hall, followed by the massive Brother Sean.

…

She strode with a restored grace.

No longer made weak by the heat or her defeat at sea Raveres was now flaunting her status.

‘I am a noble of Naggarond.’ She thought, ‘I am a daughter of the Druchii, and a member of the Naguii.’

Though she was dirty, though her clothes were stained with her sweat and the salt water of the sea she looked beautiful.

The line of her neck was framed by her long silver-white hair and she had combed it back over her ears, deliberately showing off their sharp tips, and the shining jewelry she still owned.

‘I am Raveres… and I am not to be humbled by these peasants.’

With a smirk she tilted her head in acknowledgement of the roomful of men.

The monks’ quieted down and watched her uneasily as she walked towards the table which Sir Jean and Jacque were sitting at.

“Good morning.” She announced.

The few speakers of elven amongst the monks understood her while the rest furrowed their brows.

Sir Jean cleared his throat and translated as she lifted her leg over the bench to sit.

As she lowered in between two awkward monks they continued to push against their fellows and give her more space as she relaxed in her seat.

She smiled and looked to either side as the monks averted their gaze of the she-elf.

Leaning towards Sir Jean she raised a lip comically as she spoke, “Not too keen on women folk are they?”

Sir Jean pursed his lips and stifled a mischievous smile.

She sighed and straightened back, “Or perhaps they are simply too surprised by my appearance? I regret only that I am so dishevelled, was I accompanied by my beautician slave I’m sure they’d be openly gawking at me.”

Sir Jean continued eating and the monks slowly attempted to resume their meal.

“My slave, Elianna, she’s a high elf you see…”

Sir Jean furrowed his brow, he didn’t like to be reminded of the reality of slavery and that the woman right in front of him was a self-professed owner of other creatures. But Raveres continued nonetheless,

“We dress her in silks… She’s actually the only one of our household slaves permitted to do so.”

Sir Jean cringed and held his tongue.

Sensing his tension Raveres smiled, “Oh fear not, she’s treated well! They all are… they’re fed well, clothed well, hardly ever even beaten.”

She nodded, “I dare say ours are some of the healthiest slaves in Blacklight Tower.”

Sir Jean raised his spoon to his mouth and nodded, “It is not my place to judge, but even a well-treated slave is a slave.”

Raveres lowered her brow and smirked, “And peasants? What of them? Are they not slaves?”

The knight furrowed his brow and several monks who understood her turned their heads to see her.

“If I’m not mistaken are they not property of their respective lords? Each layer of your caste-system being one of indentured servitude and oath-based slavery?”

Sir Jean was about to respond when the aged and powerful voice of the Abbot rang out, “You are not the first to make such a correlation young Druchii.”

The monks all regarded the Abbot with reverence and respect.

“Indeed yours is a wise equivalency. Perhaps it would be of greater interest for you to consider that we are all but slaves?”

Raveres looked at the elder monk and opened her mouth to respond.

Holding his hand up to interrupt her, the Abbot continued, “I know you Druchii, you dark-elves, like to warre with your cousins and spill much blood over the subject of dominance. But are you not slaves yourselves?”

Raveres tilted her head backwards and raised a hand to run through her hair.

“Consider this; your lord, the Witch King, is he not a slave to his passions? Has he not become hobbled by his desire for blood and carnage and wreaking pain upon others?”

Raveres smirked and remained silent.

“What of his mother? It is well known to those who read of the Druchii that Morathii has fallen into a web of lies and deceit spun by her own tongue. What pushed her to make such ill choices and dark deeds if not the compulsion of an unseen master?”

“From these two examples I am sure you may extrapolate that we are all but slaves to unseen forces, in addition to the will of the gods.”

Raveres let out a nervous chuckle.

“A peasant is just as much a slave to the elements and his liege lord as his liege lord is to the law, to the court, and to customs of duty.”

The Abbot smiled, “And I would wager a Druchii woman such as yourself is slave to many of the desires and customs afforded her own kind and her sex.”

Raveres swallowed dryly and looked down briefly,

“I am not one for philosophy old man.”

The Abbot clucked his tongue in disappointment, “If not a student or a master of it, then you shall be at its mercy.”

She furrowed her brow and straightened her back again.

“Like wind and tide, or the seasons. We are all the playthings of the gods, of time, and of the threads of the mind.”

Smirking, a flash of Raveres’ father echoed in her mind and she bore a somewhat innocent face for a moment,

“You know Abbot; I’d offer to buy you for my father if I didn’t fear the journey would kill you.”

The monks who understood Druhir sat up and looked at Raveres with hatred in their eyes.

Immediately the Abbot cooed and bid them stand down, “Sit, sit brothers… tis merely conversation nothing more…”

“So the noble lady does have family? We were thinking the sea had orphaned you and your speech was that of a vagrant in want of a name…”

Raveres narrowed her eyes at the Abbot and smiled, “My father often speaks of such nonsense as you. Though a human I imagine you’d make a queer pair; throwing your ‘philosophies’ at one another.”

The abbot leaned back in his seat and smiled under his thick beard.

“A queer pair indeed…”

…

After the awkward breakfast concluded Raveres, Sir Jean, and the squire Jacque were led to the courtyard where the knight and squire’s horses had been brushed fed and made ready for their journey.

Tying her hair back Raveres re-donned the knight’s white riding cloak and pulled the hood over her head.

Regarding the elf with unease the Abbot stood with the great Brother Sean beside him as he bid his goodbye’s to his guests.

“May the Lady watch over you old friend…”

Sir Jean bowed and tapped the leather satchel around his shoulder happily.

“The Duke will be pleased as I said… and may the Lady watch over you and your brothers as well Father Abbot.”

The small elderly man smiled and pointed to the squire Jacque.

“Boy… I have a gift for you.”

The youth’s expression lightened and his eyes widened happily as he stepped forwards.

…

Behind the humans Raveres was all but completely back to her usual self.

‘What is this cack? Gods below can we depart yet!’ she wondered petulantly.

Finally the humans finished their ceremony and turned to mount their steeds.

Nodding she stepped forwards and took hold of the side of Jacque’s horse. ‘Finally, we can get this bloody underway!’

Throwing herself up and behind the squire his eyes widened as her chest and body once again pressed against him.

“Sir Jean, let us be underway. I wish to speak with that Arabyan, there’s much I need to see to.”

The knight nodded and took up his reins, he spoke a farewell to the Abbot and then the two horses turned and began towards the monastery’s gate.

…


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving the monastery Raveres learns some irritating truths while across the sea intrigue begins to develop in the Naguii court.

****

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Seven

Raveres cringed uneasily as she looked at the merchant Sadalsuud.

In the morning light she saw that he had changed clothes and also a palpable odour emanated from the tanned and hairy Arabyan.

His clothes were dyed cyan with orange coloured highlights and accents, the material was obviously silk of a very high quality and Raveres raised an eyebrow as she considered the price he must have paid for so much dyed material.

His blouse was ruffled and gave his arms a poufy appearance, the neck was a deep V exposing his curly chest hair and framing a golden amulet which he wore on a silver chain.

Sadalsuud was wearing the same headdress, or turban, that he had on when she first saw him.

It was a large white material wrapping his head which almost completely covered his hair, save for a few curly black locks which peeked out down his forehead.

The smell though… The more she looked at him the more it assaulted her senses.

It was roses? Or at least it was a concoction trying to emulate roses... Sadalsuud obviously put it on for her but any seductive power the perfume may have had was soundly defeated by his over application of the scent.

His many rings and golden amulet shone in the sunlight and she saw that his belt connected to a thin scabbard on his left side.

There were small diamond shaped windows at regular intervals along the length of the sheath and she curiously tried to see the blade within.

Though she was moving and far from him she swore that the blade’s colour was yellow…

‘Don’t tell me… his sword is gold?! Really?’ she eyed the man in disbelief and took a breath as she steeled herself.

The knight Sir Jean had led their horses’ just outside the gates of the old monk’s castle and the three were watching the Arabyans of Sadalsuud’s caravan repacking and preparing their camels for the journey ahead.

The Breton knight waved a greeting and moved closer before beginning to speak with the rotund and colourful merchant.

Raveres pressed her breast and body tightly against Jacque’s back unintentionally as she leaned forwards; raising her right hand impatiently she smacked the squire’s right arm. Indicating he was to drive their horse closer.

She wanted to be part of the conversation that Sir Jean and Sadalsuud were currently having and was not about to miss anything potentially important about her new ‘partner’.

Sir Jean and the Arabyan acknowledged Jacque and then the elf before finishing what they were saying.

The knight turned towards his squire and then looked past the youth towards Raveres,

“Sadalsuud was hoping to speak with you as we rode.”

The Druchii nodded and cleared her throat, “I was coming over to state the very same.”

Sadalsuud snapped an order to one of his people and a beautiful grey stallion was brought from the back of the caravan train.

It was wearing a very new and bejeweled bridle and the majesty of the horse’s appearance was magnified by the dirty and work-clothed servant who acted as its groom.

Though he was entirely strange and off putting, Raveres couldn’t help but admire Sadalsuud…

He was obviously wealthy; and even if his personal display of opulence was merely a façade the reality was that his caravan proved he wasn’t merely showing a falsehood.

His train of camels and horses was seventeen pack animals in total, mountains of cargo was tied to the beast’s backs, and Sadalsuud commanded a mixed cohort of workers; collar-wearing slaves who did the loading and manual labour as well as free men who were dressed in the same coloured and styled clothing as one another.

Then there were the armed guards.

Sadalsuud’s bodyguard wore blue turbans and a red sash which covered their face. Their arms were all very muscular and their skin was in a wide range of colours, from a tan similar to that of Sadalsuud’s own, to the darkest shade that Raveres had ever seen on a human.

The armour that each guard wore differed from man to man too; some wore leather cuirass with pauldrons, some without. Some wore mail and scale iron armour. And then there were ones with simple light tunics.

In addition to the lack of uniformity concerning their armour, their weaponry was also seemingly up to each individual man.

Some bore broadly curved blades; some had thinner curved short swords and a few had both a sword as well as some form of pole-arm; there were several spearmen, a few halberdiers, and then a few with a strange hook-like weapon at the end of a mid-length stave.

‘Each of these men owes their allegiance to him…’ Raveres thought enviously.

‘I bet he had more than just this, I just know he owns a private army.’ She nodded with jealousy, ‘I’m sure of it!’

She hid a smile as she looked over the loud activity of the packing caravan.

The collar wearing servant who was pulling the horses’ reins then stopped and held the horse still while a second servant appeared from beside Sadalsuud and knelt to become a human step-stool.

The bulky merchant stepped on his servant and then pulled himself onto the horses’ saddle.

Raveres smirked approvingly as she watched the Arabyan over Jacque’ head.

With a smile and a chuckle the merchant adjusted his costumed headdress and moved around until he was comfortable.

Hissing and pointing back towards the other working slaves Sadalsuud issued an order in his tongue and the two tanned servants immediately bowed their heads and rushed back to assist loading the last of their camp.

Pulling his reins and lightly jabbing his heels into his horse’s flanks Sadalsuud came closer towards the two Bretonnian steeds, beaming a smile at Raveres he began curling his moustache and loudly greeted her.

Sir Jean set immediately to translating.

“He says that, your face and hair shine like the silver of the moon.” The knight stifled a chuckle and continued, “To see you now is like to see a great diamond glittering in the desert.”

Raveres pushed her lips out in a pout and looked away from the pining Arabyan.

“Tell him this diamond needs a sword. I’m still willing to offer him my gold for a blade and if his people may repair my cuirass.”

Tied to one of Jacque’s saddle bags were the two halves of Raveres’ dented and strapless breastplate. Her right gauntlet too was in Jacque’s saddle bag, but other than those two articles she remained devoid of any arms or armour.

Sadalsuud nodded and snapped his fingers while calling a name.

A servant rushed over to the merchant’s side and the two began exchanging quick words.

Disappointed Sadalsuud waved the servant off and looked back up at Raveres and shook his head as he spoke.

Sir Jean nodded and turned to the elf.

“He says that his men have packed away the weapons they had to sell, he apologises for this great inconvenience…”

Taking a deep breath Raveres resigned herself and maintained an expression of indifference.

Sadalsuud pointed to himself and then to several of his armed guards before speaking and chuckling heartily.

“He says that you have nothing to fear, there are none stupid enough to attack his caravan while he is with it. If his identity as the brother of the Emir isn’t enough to deter raiders, then his many men and their strong blade arms will keep you safe.”

Raveres scoffed and straightened her back as she interrupted Sir Jean.

“I am not amused by such an insinuation knight…”

The older Bretonnian took a breath and continued, “It is a two day’s journey to the nearest port city. Sadalsuud says that when we camp for the evening he shall see about getting you a suitable weapon.”

Raveres cooled somewhat and softened her gaze, she sighed and eventually acquiesced “That’s acceptable…”

She wasn’t really in any position to begin making demands, and she was aware that it was entirely possible for not only the Arabyan to change his mind and abandon her, but that the two Bretons could leave her here at the gates of the now closed monastery.

She still had no weapons but her teeth and hands, and even then Raveres knew she was not one hundred percent for a brawl.

As she thought she also considered, ‘He could easily order his camels unloaded and a blade presented to me now…’ she smirked, ‘Oh the cheeky human devil… he’s merely reminding me of my state… That’s all this is!’

She did her best to mask her displeasure.

Raveres was at every disadvantage she could think of; unequipped, on her own, and without knowledge of the area, no water or food of her own, no map, and no handling of the local tongues or customs.

The Druchii was going to have to walk a very precarious path indeed if she was to get even a fraction of what she envied in Sadalsuud.

Understanding her agreement of his message from her tone and body language, the merchant required no additional translation before he bowed his head and spoke; the knight repeated his words but this time he seemed a little more reluctant to relay the message.

“He says that we will be travelling soon and begs your forgiveness at the tardiness of his slaves. A few of the camels were being stubborn this morning…”

Sir Jean paused and shook his head at his own blunder, “My apologies, he said the tardiness of the camels, a few _slaves_ were being stubborn…” he cleared his throat and repeated “My mistake Druchii.”

Raveres rolled her eyes, ‘I care very little…’ she thought.

Changing the subject she looked towards the knight and involuntarily her haughty, presumptuous, upbringing painted her words,

“Sir Jean naturally you will accompany me after we reach whatever this destination is. I don’t even know the city. But I will make most important use of your services as translator.”

The knight immediately furrowed his brow in confusion and opened his mouth to scoff.

At first he thought she had made an odd joke, but he quickly realised she was serious.

Darting between Jacque and Sadalsuud he began his retort as calmly as he could.

“My lady… you must forgive me again, but when we arrive in the city our journey together will have come to its end. Jacque and I are in service to our liege lord and our objective, our mission, and our oaths come first.”

Raveres furrowed her brow.

“It is only a great convenience and coincidence that our destination and that of Sadalsuud’s is the same.” He noticed her slight change in demeanour and offered a conciliatory tone, “Though… I am sure that a speaker of Druhir or of high-elf can be found and employed in the city.”

Raveres was not used to being contradicted or having an assumption of hers proven incorrect and so at first she darted her eyes away from the knight to observe Sadalsuud’s workers, trying her best to hide her sudden expression of irritation and disappointment.

Sir Jean was at a loss and quickly tried to assuage her embarrassment, “My lady, as I said I apologise, but I am not a sell-sword, nor am I a translator. I am a knight.”

Ignoring his words she remained looking away from the Breton as she flippantly responded, “Just as well I suppose, I was wondering how best to discharge myself of a decrepit old man, and a half-witted boy.”

The knight furrowed his brow and gawked in surprise before she continued, “Tell the Arabyan that provisions must be made for a translator of my tongue, and that if his slaves work any slower I’ll beat them myself.”

Sir Jean cringed internally. ‘I’ve seen some egotistical lords and ladies before… But the tales of elven arrogance are certainly not amiss in this Druchii.’

Sadalsuud furrowed his brow in confusion at first but the knight explained the situation as diplomatically as possible so that the Arabyan could understand what else had happened.

Turning back to Raveres he repeated curtly, “He says he understands.”

Raveres adjusted the white hood over her head as she spoke.

“Good, now tell your boy to ride us outside of this village, I can’t stomach the stink of these human peasants any longer.”

Sir Jean tensely looked at the Druchii for a moment before speaking to Jacque in Bretonnian, “Ride the horse out to the edge of the village, we’ll be along shortly.”

“But Druchii?”

Raveres raised a brow and looked at Sir Jean with a smarmy almost childish expression.

The knight’s features narrowed and he paused.

“I know of no land which is welcoming to one without allies, and if you wish to return to your homeland your fate hangs by a thread.”

Raveres opened her mouth to hiss a response but for some reason the stern and serious features of the old knight gave her pause.

Recalling some of his first words to her she remembered his deathly serious threat; ‘… I will run my sword through your heart without hesitation…’

She’d been bested by the elf swordsman during the raid and she’d been thoroughly beaten by Annio de Bilbali. In both cases she misjudged her own abilities and nearly paid for it with her life.

This knight, though human, though old, made her immediately think;

‘Only two kinds of warriors get old…’

‘And this ‘Sir Jean’? He was no coward, and quite obviously knew his way around warfare.’

She thought for a moment about how close the knight was to her. Though they were on horseback he was still within two sword lengths.

It was more than enough space to get his steed to move forwards, draw steel, and impale her exposed throat, her face, or her unarmoured chest…

She swallowed her dry and empty mouth.

“I…”

She blinked and darted her eyes to look at Sadalsuud and then their surroundings.

Sir Jean’s features somewhat softened and he nodded to Jacque.

The squire then tapped his heels into his horse’s belly while squeezing with his thighs.

Pulling his reins to the right he began driving down the road that they had come, through the hamlet.

Raveres began breathing a little sharper and deeper as she swallowed and wiped her brow nervously.

‘I… I really am in a bad position here aren’t I?’

‘By the gods… I… no! Shut up, just shut up! Just…’

The squire Jacque moved in the saddle and had to press his back into her chest as he directed his horse around a cart to the side of the road.

Raveres looked down at the squire and recalled the previous evening.

She lightened and let out a small dry chuckle.

‘Just ride…’

…

When Jacque rode to the edge of the town his passenger sounded distressed; her breathing was shallow, she was making odd sounds as she exhaled, and her shuffling movement in the saddle was fidgety.

But as soon as they passed the last peasant hovels and trotted to the side of the road to turn and wait for the rest of the caravan she calmed.

The horse whinnied and brought one of its front legs up in irritation.

Jacque leaned forwards and began rubbing his right hand along the horses’ neck while cooing and loudly issuing pleasantly sounding noises to soothe the mount.

Raveres pressed a hand to his shoulder to steady herself as she tried to become comfortable in the cramped saddle.

Jacque was almost glad she couldn’t see his face.

As soon as her hand gripped his shoulder his eyes darted open and he gulped nervously.

‘Oh gods… this is such a bad idea! Why couldn’t she have gotten her own steed from that rich, fat, Arabyan bastard?’

As the squire leaned back from his petting of the horse he tried to turn to see his passenger’s face.

Raveres wasn’t watching the caravan in front of them but was instead looking to their far right.

All around them the landscape was dotted with rough bushes and rocky outcrops amidst small patches of grass and larger hills of rocky sand. But past their immediate surroundings was what seemed to be a large rippling sea of yellow and white sands, beyond which, just at the horizon was the hint of a mountain range.

These mountains to their right were the focus of Raveres’ attention and she seemed to be staring at them.

She didn’t seem to care that Jacque was craning his neck around awkwardly to catch a glimpse of her face.

Looking back forwards the squire took a breath and shook his shoulders nervously.

Raveres finally removed her hand from his left shoulder and spoke quickly.

Jacque felt frustrated that he still didn’t know what she had said but he wasn’t about to turn around again… ‘that’s too weird maybe?’ he thought.

‘Oh gods… this is too much for me…’ shaking his head from side to side he looked towards Sir Jean as the caravan appeared to finally be moving.

…

The cool tops of the distant mountains somehow gave Raveres some solace and she was able to calm her breathing and the tightness in her chest.

When she looked away she was even more relieved to see the caravan beginning to get closer to them down the road.

At the fore of the procession were Sir Jean, Sadalsuud, and two of the Arabyan’s guards on horseback. The rest of the caravan was either on some of the horse, or camel, drawn carts, or they were on foot; walking on either side of the long train.

Sadalsuud had encouraged his horse to ride a little quicker ahead and Sir Jean and the guards followed.

Beaming another smile at Raveres she slightly nodded her head in acknowledgement.

‘Hopefully the conversation I will be forced to endure will not make me wish for death…’

Jacque squeezed his steed and the two began moving.

Raveres looked at the two guards and they each pulled their scarves from their faces, grotesque expressions of lust and desire across their hardened and rugged features.

Despite her belief the previous night that she’d penitently escaped divine retribution she exhaled and thought to herself, ‘Gods… this is punishment, this is my punishment from Khaine, I know it…’

…

After getting over her apprehension Raveres began to learn more from Sadalsuud about their mutual enemy; Annio as the rode.

Though it didn’t take long for Sadalsuud to have to drop behind from the head of the caravan to issue orders to his servants and break the conversation periodically.

During these moments of quiet Jacque and Sir Jean would speak amongst one another and Raveres would keep to herself. Plotting, watching the rolling desert to their sides, counting the ancient ruins, and perspiring…

…

Wiping her brow she announced to Sir Jean; “Water… Where’s your squire’s water skin?”

The knight looked from his squire to the elvish passenger and took a deep breath.

“It’s on the right side of his horse… should you wish. Also, for your own benefit water is ‘eau’ in Bretonnian.”

Raveres issued a ‘tsk’ as she thought, ‘Like I care what it-‘ her thoughts stopped as she looked over at Sir Jean.

The knight’s face seemed to have far less patience then he’d shown before.

“Eau?” she repeated.

Jacque perked up and said, “Eau pour Raveres?”

She immediately looked in front at the squire and the youth easily leaned over while reaching for his skin.

Humbled Raveres awkwardly caught on her words.

Sir Jean smirked and looked back ahead as he squeezed his horse and slightly increased his pace.

Unclipping the visibly heavy and full water skin Jacque held it aloft and exclaimed in his odd language, “Pour vous!”

Raveres took the skin in her hands and let out an expectant breath.

She was sweating, she was hot, and she knew as soon as the water passed her lips she’d feel relief.

‘This whole ordeal is lessened just by some water… just a little. Oh gods yes…’

…

Making use of Jacque’s water skin Raveres greedily began consuming almost all of its contents.

Jacque actually attempted to stop her as she reached for the skin for the third time in an hour.

He was trying to say that she’d make herself sick, if she kept at it too quickly, and that the water they had would have to keep for the rest of the day… But the young squire was quickly introduced to Druchii wrath.

Pinching his ear with her free left hand she pulled the small tuft of human cartilage and dug her nails into his right wrist which had stopped her from unclipping the skin from the horse’s side.

Loudly protesting and groaning in pain Jacque turned his head to the left as Raveres continued to pull his ear.

At the noise coming from his squire Sir Jean turned around and immediately yelled at the Druchii, “Unhand him immediately!”

Stopping mid action Raveres raised her lip in a sneer.

“Your servant boy dares to stop me drinking? Knight, my people have long memories and though my present circumstances may not suggest it, I have no qualms about revenging myself over this slight…”

Sir Jean looked at the caravan and brought his horse towards the squire’s before turning so that they were very close.

“Unhand my boy and listen to me you insolent she-elf.”

Raveres eyes widened and she leaned away in surprise.

“Unhand him!”

Minding the volume of his voice and the distance between them and the caravan and its guards behind it seemed as if Sir Jean had something of importance to relay.

Relinquishing her tight grip from Jacque’s ear he leaned forwards and began rubbing the red lobe with his right hand while maintaining the reins with his left.

“Sadalsuud’s guards were demanding to know who you were, I spoke with him and they’re not entirely receptive to letting you go once we reach the city.”

Raveres face became confused, “What are-“

“No, I’m not finished; you will continue to listen to me my lady. You are clearly not half of what you’re trying to be. I’m old enough to know much of what I’ve seen, and you are not in any position to think you can get away with the attitude you have right now.”

Nervously the Druchii paused and held her tongue.

“You need us… and until you are safely out of our charge I am unfortunately honour bound to aid you. But I will be damned if you continue to act in this way.”

Raveres’ brow could decide on an expression and her body began to feel as if she was being scolded by her father.

Childhood fear began to grip her oddly.

“I…” she whispered.

“Sadalsuud has had to change your agreement. Before we left he had told me to share this with you when we first stopped for a rest, but now seems a much better time.”

Raveres forgot about her desire for water and tensely tried looking over her shoulder at the men of the caravan behind them.

“No, stay looking at me…” Sir Jean ordered.

“Though he commands great fear and respect Sadalsuud has told me that there are a few men of his company which are not to be trusted, and he cannot control them entirely…”

The knight stopped and exhaled heavily as he darted his eyes to his side.

“I do not know how to say this to a lady!”

Raveres furrowed her brow, “Say what…”

“These men of his want you… They want you a slave…”

The implications of what Sir Jean was really saying hit home like a true-shot arrow.

Raveres’ eyes widened and she bared her teeth in disgust.

“I know how it is, I know enough of the Druchii and I think I understand you enough that ‘thanks’ ‘gratitude’ and ‘humility’ are not qualities or things actively practised. But you aren’t a fool.”

Sir Jean shook his head and smirked, “Or if you are I sincerely wish you the best of luck.”

“But despite what you may think, you _need_ us. So perhaps you should begin to acknowledge and respect that fact, even if the truth that my squire saved your life is not enough to inspire some form of debt in you.”

Raveres looked down at Jacque and began to feel shame across her face.

“Perhaps I…”

Cutting her off Sir Jean made a perplexed expression, “Surely your race has some concept of life-debt?”

They continued in silence before Raveres began to look down at her chest, hiding her face shamefully as she begrudgingly spoke.

“How may I re-repay this debt? And… I… I must apologise t-to you both…”

Raveres’ thoughts raced as she fearfully considered the more tenuous situation she was in. Sir Jean relaxed and leaned back in his saddle as he replied.

“For now? Acting courteously towards us would be a good start. Another would be to apologise to Jacque.”

She looked up balefully and the knight met her gaze with stoic resolve.

Eventually she gave in. “Okay…”

“In our tongue.”

“ _What!?_ ”

“Me saying to him what you’ve said counts very little, it’d make a far greater impact for you to say it in a tongue that he understands.”

Raveres looked away from Sir Jean to her right and hid her face with the side of her hood for several long seconds before her voice quietly responded.

“w-what must I repeat…”

Sir Jean took a breath through his nose and nodded,

“Like so…”

…

Jacque rubbed his ear and groaned as he tried his best to avoid what had just happened.

Privately he enjoyed listening to Sir Jean scolding the elf because her words, her breathing… Jacque could feel it along his back.

But then she began speaking, and… it sounded familiar.

More than that it was her voice, but… he understood it!

“Jacque… I… I am desolated at my,-“

Raveres groaned and looked at Sir Jean as he continued to coach her.

“I beg?”

Sir Jean nodded, and she continued with her thick accent,

“I… beg your… forgiving ness…”

Jacque looked back over his shoulder and smirked.

They were very close, and this time she was the one with red cheeks and embarrassed expression.

Her eyes appeared pained, and she reminded Jacque of a child who had been unruly and then swiftly made to amend.

In a strange way he enjoyed her expression and the clear discomfort that she was displaying.

He nodded once in acceptance and she immediately sighed in relief.

She spoke a few words and stopped herself before pursing her lips. Sir Jean nodded to Jacque and then they continued riding quietly.

…

Miles from Araby, the sun of the desert, and the misfortunate world Raveres had stumbled into, her mother, Lady Naguii, stepped towards a steaming bath.

Letting her thin, see-though silk robe fall to the marble floor she exhaled calmly as she looked towards the magnificent mural of her bathroom.

It was a scene of several she-elves in pools of water, surrounded by nymphs, in various states as they were entertained by boxing Druchii noblemen. The centre she-elf was actually her likeness, and each of the nymphs and elves was one of her daughters.

As much a display of the artist’s skill, the piece was a romantic portrayal of how she saw her own family.

It cost a large sum and took much longer to complete than she thought it should have, but when it was finished Lady Naguii was pleased to no end to have such a wonderful and accurate portrayal of her daughters all in one place.

The room was well lit by sconces burning brightly and the breathing of her slaves reminded her that she was not alone in the room.

Before becoming carried away with her thoughts she took a deep breath.

Elianna and a new female human slave stood at either side of their mistress as she began to enter the large stone pool in the middle of the room.

“I am vexed…” she eventually declared.

Elianna looked up and shared a confused glance with her fellow slave.

Lady Naguii didn’t continue speaking as she stepped into her bath. The silence indicated that she was waiting for one of the two slaves to speak up.

Finding her voice Elianna cleared her throat and brushed a lock of her golden hair off her cheek while speaking, “What is it which troubles you my lady?”

With a sigh of satisfaction the Druchii lowered and sat onto the carved seat in the corner of the oval bath.

The lady’s long black hair swirled around her and floated in the water like tendrils of darkness.

“My youngest daughter…”

Elianna nodded and as the Druchii closed her eyes she held a hand out of the water lazily. The high-elf and the human slave knew this to be their signal to begin filing their mistress’ nails and grooming her.

“I fear Raveres left too suddenly.”

Elianna knelt at the edge of the water and took her mistress’ hand in hers. Rubbing her fingers and palm the slave responded, doing her best to not be a total supplicant, as well as to not be too serious a bore.

“She was well sent off… many offerings were made, she was well equipped. Lord Titos met with the captain; he seemed at ease with him?”

Lady Naguii tensed and leaned her head back over the lip of the bath.

“Oh that’s another one of my problems… I didn’t meet with this captain. I wasn’t the one to inspect the crew… Perhaps they were in want of sharper blades? Or… or New sails?”

She shook her head in irritation.

“I have no knowledge of sailing… But I was unable to make any such inquiries!”

Elianna sighed, “My lady…”

Having owned and interacted with the high-elf almost her entire life so far, Lady Naguii allowed and now expected the young woman’s familiarity

“I know, I know… you’re right Elianna…”

The room became quiet except for the breathing of the women, their movements, the occasional splash of water as Lady Naguii moved a limb, and the crackling of the braziers.

She opened her eyes and looked at Elianna with a smirk.

Looking up from her mistress’ nails the slave furrowed her brow, “What is it mistress?”

“You know what he brought up the other day?”

Elianna cocked her head in confusion, seemingly asking ‘who’.

“Lord Titos… my husband…” Lady Naguii scoffed and threw her head back in an exaggerated laugh, “So… after dinner yesterday as we are sitting in the parlour sharing wine he asks me; ‘How is my father?’ a rather innocuous subject, but I thought nothing of it so I say ‘he’s well’; the last correspondence I shared with him stated as much, and then Titos asks me, ‘Is he satisfied with his grandchildren?’”

She took a breath and continued, adding context for the slave, “My sister and brother are both celebrating yet more spawn…”

Elianna loudly cringed.

Lady Naguii had made it well known she detested her nieces and nephews, and always ordered the slaves to ‘watch the silverware’ whenever her family made a visit to Blacklight Tower, and the Naguii villa.

“Do they know the sexes?” Elianna asked.

Lady Naguii nodded, “Oh two new nephews… we’ll be expected to send gifts soon actually, I’ve been putting it off. But anyway…”

The slave nodded as her mistress resumed her previous subject,

“So Titos then gives me this look…” Pausing for emphasis the Druchii looked at her slave and Elianna nodded while repeating, “A ‘look’ my lady?”

“Yes, and then he says; ‘With so many of our children now grown the house is ‘more empty’ for it, don’t you agree?’”

Elianna opened her mouth in disbelief, “No!”

Lady Naguii nodded and scoffed, “Yes! So the fool leant closer towards me and then pushed my wine glass closer.”

Elianna paused her filing of her mistress’ nails.

“So… what does my lady want to do?”

Lady Naguii threw her head back and loudly groaned.

“Oh gods… I don’t know. I know Titos is disappointed that his youngest is a whelp and that the majority of his progeny are women… But I swear I don’t think I could stand him through another pregnancy. And I don’t think I could sire another child…”

Elianna furrowed her brow, her mistress wasn’t barren… even Morathi one of the longest lived of all the Druchii was still fertile.

And even if Lady Naguii was, it was well known that among older Druchii it was possible through rites and magic incantations to still sire healthy children. Immediately the high-elf nodded as Lady Naguii continued:

“It’s just so much effort!”

Her mistress’ voice climbed as she became more irritated, “The wet-nurses, the soothsaying’s, the rites, the slaves needing to be purchased, and then the family’s reactions!”

“And the timing? Really? I mean…” she groaned in revulsion.

“If Raveres is to die on her voyage I’d like it to look like we weren’t breeding a replacement right after she left…”

Shaking her head from side to side Lady Naguii closed her eyes and laid her head back again.

“I don’t know Elianna… I’ve told him that if he needs to stick it in something we have slaves a plenty for that…”

Elianna hid a cringe as she thought about her master Titos… nude.

He wasn’t hideous, he was somewhat handsome, but… the idea of him fucking the other slaves, or especially her caused her to ripple with a disquieting feeling.

“Ah… pay it no mind I suppose… He’s just worried. I know he doesn’t look it, but as soon as he brought up Raveres’ departure I had to argue against him to let her go on it.”

Elianna furrowed her brow, “It wasn’t the money? Lady Raveres feared that was the greatest worry?”

Shaking her head Lady Naguii continued, “No… he was simply reluctant to see his last daughter leave in such a way… He would have preferred her ‘marry well’, but I told him outside of Raveres snagging a duke or prince of the black court there was no calibre of Druchii worthy of her…”

With a smirk Lady Naguii reopened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. “Of all my children, two have more me in them than him…”

She nodded and pulled her hand from Elianna’s light grip.

Inspecting her now shortened and carefully manicured nails she smiled in satisfaction.

“Raveres is one of them… and though our first born son looks like Titos…” she looked at Elianna and raised an eyebrow.

“That boy is all me…”

Nodding and closing her eyes Elianna and the human slave swapped sides and the high-elf set to working on Lady Naguii’s other hand.

“Raveres is my heiress…”

With a sigh the Druchii raised a leg out of the water and stretched the lithe limb like she was a dancer.

“Until I know she’s dead I shan’t be siring any further children…”

Nodding Lady Naguii agreed with herself.

“Tomorrow I shall go to the market and purchase some slaves for slaughter at the temple… One can never show enough piety.”

Elianna nodded, “Perhaps Arabyans?”

Opening her eyes Lady Naguii looked at the elf with confusion.

“Since that’s where Lady Raveres is, it would make sense to sacrifice kin of her foes?”

Issuing a loud noise of agreement Lady Naguii then nodded, “You know, that makes sense, I hadn’t thought of that before…”

She smiled evilly as she praised her slave, “Good idea Elianna. Good idea…”

…

The caravan had travelled far enough that now the coast was in sight. But their speed had been wanting…

Raveres was numb with boredom and was thankful that they were finally stopping for the evening.

Since her ‘candid’ chat with the knight she began to eye the Arabyans with disdain and increased suspicion. Before dismounting she called to Sir Jean, “I need a sword.”

Behind the two Bretonnian steeds Sadalsuud was panting and barked at his slaves. They began unloading the camels and horses and then two of their number rushed towards their master to help him dismount his steed.

Sir Jean climbed off his horse and spoke with their host.

As the servants began setting camp and constructing tents and fires Sadalsuud nodded and waved Raveres and Jacque towards him.

“Well… here we go…” she whispered.

Waiting for Jacque to dismount first Raveres then easily slid out of the saddle and immediately felt the discomfort from having ridden all day.

Her back was sore, her legs were sore, her ass was sore, and even between her legs, somehow, her pussy felt sore.

Taking her first steps forwards she groaned in pain and did her best to stifle any kind of noise.

But Sir Jean and Jacque clearly knew that she was hobbling and walking with somewhat of a slowed limp.

Sadalsuud called to his servants and one brought forwards a wet cloth for him while the other held what looked like, for lack of a better word, a carpet.

Bringing the thick rolled material forwards the servant laid it down at Sadalsuud’s feet and bowed before the merchant kicked the side of the roll to unfurl it.

Inside was a dozen swords, each was fastened to the thick material and laid within like a surgeon’s, or torturers, tool kit.

Raveres let out a shuddering breath of relief at the sight of the deadly implements and smiled.

Sadalsuud pointed and began speaking as Sir Jean translated,

“He says these are his choicest bladed wares. You may have any one of these weapons that you feel would serve you best.”

Raveres slowly knelt and began eyeing each of the unique weapons.

There were short swords, scimitars, longswords, hilt-less dueling swords, a rapier, and then she saw one which spoke to her; third from the middle lay an inch and a half wide, elven long sword. Its hilt was simple black-steel and the handle was black leather cord.

She reached for it and unclipped the leather straps which held it down.

Pulling it free she stood back straight and held it out from her as she felt the weight and balance of the weapon.

She looked at its tang and then flicked the blade satisfactorily.

Looking to Sadalsuud she merely smiled and the merchant roared with a low laugh as he wiped his brow with the cloth and placed his free hand on the side of his belly.

“Tell him this blade is Druchii made.” Turning to Sir Jean she smirked, “And that it’s worth a small fortune…”

Sir Jean relayed her words and Sadalsuud nodded.

“He says he already knew… If you are satisfied then he asks us to join him for some wine and a real dinner.”

Raveres kept cutting the blade through the air as she got used to the feeling of a weapon in her hand again.

“He jokes that after drowning he’s sure that you’ll appreciate food that has a little more life to it than what the monks could cook.”

Raveres smirked and nodded, but didn’t look at the merchant or Sir Jean.

With a sword in her hand she felt at ease, the worst thing was how now possessing a weapon showed her how poorly she was feeling before.

The uncertainty, the helplessness, the lack of confidence…

Everything was halved and she felt a surge of ability in her body. Despite the hobbling that the day’s ride had on her frame she was knew that she was not going to screw up again.

She was not going to allow herself to make any blunders in combat like she had before.

Her sword tutor’s voice reminded her to stay focused; the sword is part of her arm. It is an extension of her body, and all she need do was remember her drills…

“My armour?”

Sir Jean spoke with Sadalsuud and the merchant pointed to one of his servants.

…

After the camp was set Raveres was presented with her cuirass, re-strapped in fresh leather clasps, the bullet dent from Annio hammered out, and the metal cleaned and polished.

She was genuinely surprised at the speed with which the human workers operated.

‘At the end of this would Sadalsuud be allow me to purchase some of them for my own uses? Gods, that’d be exciting…’ she wondered.

Sadalsuud’s travelling tent was a grand construction, and Raveres was surprised that everything in it had come from one of the carts, or from the back of either a horse or camel.

It was made of red dyed cloth and its ‘floor’ was covered in carpets and large plush pillows circled around a fire in the centre of the rounded tent.

The evening passed oddly for Raveres; while Sir Jean and the merchant Sadalsuud spoke with one another and occasionally they’d include her in their conversation the Druchii mainly eyed her food suspiciously.

Though she was ravenously hungry she didn’t know if she could actually trust the meal.

Now with her wits about her she was beginning to think as a Druchii should, and with Sir Jean’s tipping off that there were at least two rogues among the Arabyan’s outfit… She didn’t know what to expect.

Watching her companions throughout the evening she ate sparingly small bites. Carefully monitoring how she was feeling with every minute.

Despite her pulling his ear Jacque felt more enamoured with the she-elf more than before and happily ate his meal while clutching the Abbot’s gift under his tabard.

His heart beat faster when he looked at her and in a strange way he relished the fact she had so aggressively pulled him.

It somehow justified his guilt in how he felt towards her.

As they sat and ate, Sadalsuud jovially laughing and entertaining Sir Jean, Jacque pulled the small book that the Abbot had given him from under his clothes.

Leaving his food he meekly turned his attention to the worn and gilded letters of the cover. The large hand written characters read:

‘A Study of the Language, Customs, and Nobility of the Wayward Elvish Races: Volume II Druchii, or Dark-Elf’

Though his literacy was not nearly as competent as Sir Jean, or of the monks, Jacque was able to read and write. He was slow at it, but he could still do it.

Peering up at Raveres surreptitiously he began opening the small leather book to its first page.

‘There has much been written already of the darkest, black, and brutal Elves known as the Dark-Elves, in their own tongue they differentiate themselves from their High-Elf cousins by calling their race; ‘Druchii’ and so for the rest of this volume we shall refer to them using this, more formal, name…’

Jacque reached the end of the paragraph and rubbed his eyes.

‘Oh dear…’ he thought, ‘this is not going to be an easy lesson…’

Flipping ahead he came to a phrase table much like what he was hoping to find.

The table was on the first page of a chapter titled; ‘The Druchii Language’ and he looked at the Bretonnian words in the left hand column, High-Elf in the middle, and then Druchii in the right.

A flutter of excitement rose in his chest and he stole a glance upwards at Raveres.

She was getting Sir Jean to translate and she had said something which caused Sadalsuud to roar with laughter.

The Druchii even managed a smirk and smile. Sir Jean laughed politely but clearly was not as impressed with either the Arabyan or the she-elf’s humor.

‘Maybe… maybe I could learn just a few things to say to her?’ Jacque thought hopefully.

‘Bah… it’s so much work though! And like… oh I don’t know…’

Flipping back to the beginning of the book Jacque began seriously reading the opening pages of the tome.

‘Maybe just learning more about them would be good enough? I mean… that’s what a knight ought to do, right?’ He nodded as he answered himself and buried himself into the dry and dusty pages of the old book.

…

When night fell Sadalsuud invited Raveres to sleep in his tent but she naturally refused.

Sir Jean diplomatically translated, reinterpreting and soothing her initial message: ‘I’d rather gouge my own eyes out.’ Into something along the lines of ‘It’d be inappropriate in my culture to share a tent without someone neutral to assure my honour…’

Sadalsuud reluctantly assented and offered her a small tent of her own beside his and the two Bretonnians.

This was welcomed by the she-elf, and she quickly pushed disgusting thoughts of her naked host out of her mind.

When she arrived at the small tent Raveres knew that sleep would not be coming easily. But she began telling herself, ‘Just get through the night… that’s all, we get through the night and all will be well.’

After inspecting the interior of her tent and satisfactorily finding no snakes, scorpions, or other booby-traps waiting for her she threw her cuirass into the small enclosure and then exited to stand back up.

At first Raveres sat out on the sand in front of her tent for a while, watching the patrolling members of the Arabyan caravan closely with her new sword lying across her lap.

In a short amount of time she was able to discern that among the guardsmen there were a few that didn’t seem to be genuinely patrolling or making rounds of the camp and she immediately knew that they were the ones to watch for.

Beside her tent was Jacque’s, and then Sir Jean’s and for a while the two Bretons sat outside their respective tents in much the same fashion as her; uneasy to consign themselves to sleep just yet.

The elder Breton had dis-armoured and was cleaning his aged equipment with care. His sword however remained in its sheath, and even after he finished with his vambraces, his tabard, chainmail, greaves, and so on the blade remained undrawn in its’ leather.

Occasionally during his cleaning the knight would try to include Raveres in conversation but she would respond with one word, or non-verbal, answers, grunting and impolitely muttering distractedly.

She was in ‘defensive’ mode, and wholly unpractised at intrigue.

Everything she knew was from being taught, and very rarely first hand personal experience.

Raveres was not yet good enough to be able to make it appear like she was not watching, maintain the façade of conversation, and actually have been watching the whole time.

She could only focus on her own security at the moment and so instead the two Bretons talked among themselves.

Jacque sat close to his master but his nose remained in his book.

Taking a brief look at the youth Raveres furrowed her brow. She hadn’t considered the squire to have been the ‘bookish’ type, but since he simply appeared with the small codex at dinner the young man has been consumed by it.

Angling himself awkwardly to get enough torchlight to read, the youth was scrunching his nose and furrowing his brow as he squinted at the small characters on each page.

Carefully flipping or occasionally ‘oohing’ and ‘ah-ing’ in surprise, the older Sir Jean issuing the occasional comment or answer to a question the squire might have had.

When the air began to grow cooler and night was utterly upon them Jacque the squire called in first, quietly shutting his book and rubbing his eyes he stood and left Sir Jean and Raveres to enter into his small tent.

Eventually when the night became blackest and the majority of the camps’ torches were put out and it’s campfires quenched, it seemed that sleep had fallen to the majority of the humans around her.

At first she was startled to hear the Druhir of Sir Jean but quickly calmed at his words.

“I think I shall make for sleep as well…” the old knight stood and exhaled as he stretched his arms, “Tomorrow we have much riding ahead of us… I’d suggest you sleep soon too milady.”

With a curt nod she acknowledged the knight’s departure.

Then… she was alone.

A strange excitement built in her blood as she stood up from her seat on the ground. Wiping the sand from her buttock she then made a show of crawling into her tent.

‘If they’re going to make a move their two best opportunities would be now, tonight, or tomorrow… Perhaps before we enter the city? Or… no, no perhaps they’ll strike in the morning?’

Sitting in her tent she waited and pried her ear towards the tent flap, listening closely to the silence of the camp. But after a few moments, sure enough, she heard distant talking amongst some of the guards. When they moved a litter farther away Raveres then quietly darted out of her tent and crawled into the squire Jacque’s.

…

The youth was asleep but at the arrival of someone into the small and intimate quarters of the tent he quickly regained his consciousness and tried for his sword which lay beside him.

With a quick darting hand Raveres covered his mouth and watched as the young human blinked sleep from his eyes and looked up at her with both terror and disbelief.

She slowly removed her hand from his mouth and in the darkness pressed a finger to his lips as she ‘shushed’ him.

The squire furrowed his brow and tried to make sense of it when she then brought her sword into view and then pointed outside the tent.

At first Jacque was at a loss, but eventually he deduced what she had meant.

‘There’s armed men outside! Are they looking for her?’ he thought wildly, ‘Gah! Surely not?’

He brought up his sword and threw off his sheet.

Moving into a crouch the squire tried to see through the flaps of his tent’s entrance at the occasional movement outside.

He watched closely as he heard whispers and a few hostile exchanges.

It sounded like it was getting heated but eventually it died down.

At first he was energised, ready… but then as time wore on he began to grow more tired.

‘Nothing’s happening… gods… just some sleep, come on… leave me Druchii. This is-‘

Turning to his right to see Raveres the she-elf had fallen asleep with her chin in her left hand on her left thigh while her blade had actually fallen from her right palm and now rested on the floor of the small tent.

‘She’s… she’s actually asleep! R-right here… b-beside me?!’

Jacque took a shallow quiet breath and gulped nervously as he felt a burst of excitement and energy.

He could barely make out any of her sharp features, and the shape of her body was black in the darkness of the small enclosure.

His mind raced and his heart began to beat wildly.

‘Oh gods…’

“R-Raveres?” he called meekly.

She didn’t stir.

Tentatively he moved his left hand towards her and poked the arm holding her chin as he called her name again.

“My lady? Raveres?”

Her left arm moved and the dead weight of her sleeping head lost its careful balance and her body began to slump forwards.

Dropping his sword Jacque quickly moved his hands forwards to stop her from falling forwards and out of the tent to the sandy ground.

‘Oh gods! W-what do I do? What do I do!?’

Her breathing was steady and he had to move closer towards her to get a better grip on her shoulders.

She exhaled what seemed to be a small groan or grunt before a heavy breath but remained limp and unconscious.

Carefully Jacque began to lay her backwards.

‘Slowly… there, just slow and steady…’

Eventually he laid her down onto the floor of the tent and her head onto his pillow.

As he eased her down he had his hand on the back of her neck. Her skin was slick with sweat and her hair clung to his fingers like evil threads.

He looked at his hand grossly in the darkness before curiosity took over and he brought it towards his nose.

It wasn’t that odourous… but it still smelt.

Swallowing nervously Jacque didn’t know what to make of it, or what he had just done. But,

_He liked it_ …

Turning to the tent’s flaps he began to push the wooden fastening toggles through the thread loop-holes and after drawing the entrance closed he then turned to see a pair of eyes glinting in the dark.

Even though the flap was closed passing torchlight pierced the material of the tent and made Raveres’ eyes shine in the dark.

‘She’s awake?!’ he exclaimed.

Frozen with fear he remained motionless until he heard and saw her rough shape move in the darkness.

‘Fuck… gods… just don’t move you little shit…’

Jacque remained still until the next pass of the sentry and when the torchlight came through the tent’s sides he saw that Raveres’ eyes were closed and she had curled herself onto her left side.

Her chest moved up and down under her blouse rhythmically as she slept.

Jacque’s heartbeat was so loud it pulsed in his throat and neck. ‘You will not get an opportunity like this again you fool! D-do something?!’

Tentatively Jacque began to lean forwards with his hand outstretched towards her.

His fingertips brushed her exposed arm and felt her warm, soft, skin in the dark.

He shuddered and gulped nervously.

‘She’s so… soft! Are… are all women like this? Or merely elves?’

He quickly removed his hand from her arm, ‘Speaking of elvishness… I…’

Drawing a deep breath he moved closer to her on his knees and felt through the dark towards her head.

Her hair was not in a ponytail and instead fell wildly where ever it desired.

Carefully he parted her hair away from her ear and took another gulp before bringing his fingers towards her cartilage.

‘She was so… so mean! Why’d you pull the hell out of my ear you… you… g-gorgeous creature…’

Biting his lip and holding his breath Jacque began feeling her long ear. Running his thumb through the top of the strong cartilage he carefully made sure not to apply too much pressure so as to wake her.

With a feather-light touch he ran his finger along the inner ridge of her ear until finally he began touching the very tip.

‘Why do they have such ears?’ he wondered innocently, ‘it’s so… oh gods… I’m touching her! I’m literally touching her!’

She stirred and took a deeper breath while moving her head somewhat, as if she had felt the touching through her sleep.

Letting go of her ear he nodded and exhaled nervously.

‘Okay, too much I got it…’

He licked his lips and then doubt began to claw in his mind. ‘I… I should stop… I should- this, this is wrong!’

Nodding in agreement he resolved to end it and simply lie down and try to sleep.

‘But…’

He gulped.

‘I wonder if I could just move her arm.’

Reaching in the bleakness he took hold of her bicep and wrist.

‘Is this what l-lovers do? H-has she known… is she…’

Shaking his head Jacque let go of the arm and sit backwards.

‘No… I-I can’t…’

‘Oh gods damn it! This is bullshite!’

As his eyes adjusted to the dark he could better make out her shape in the pitch black.

‘She came to you! She’s in _your_ tent!’

Taking a deep breath he moved forwards and grabbed her arm.

Moving her over onto the flat of her back he then planted his arms on either side of her head.

‘You’ve been driving me mad! I… I have to taste your lips again!’

He brought his face down towards hers and shuddered with guilt before stopping.

‘N-no…’

He shook his head and began rising away from her, ‘I can’t bloody do it… Oh by the Lady, give me strength!’

Pushing himself off and away from her he curled up on his sleeping mat and wrapped himself in his sheet. Punching his hand into the material floor of the tent he created a fist shaped divot in the sand underneath.

‘Fuck this! She can have the damn pillow! But I’ll be damned if I’m letting her have _my_ sheet as well.’

Lying in this arrangement was permissible for Jacque… at first.

Eventually he threw off his sheet and turned around to the curled she-elf. Pursing his lips he pulled his blanket out from under his weight and drew it over the sleeping Raveres.

Groaning under his breath Jacque took up his sword and quietly exited the tent as he shook his head. ‘By the Lady…’

Nearly tripping over the sand he found his way to Raveres’ abandoned tent and carefully laid himself down onto her pillows and sheets.

‘Obviously Sadalsuud gave her the choicest sleeping arrangements!’

The pillows which had been provided her were fine feather-filled ones, the material plush to the touch and her sheets were thick and soft as well.

Trying to relax Jacque moved her breastplate off the bedroll and extended his arms. ‘Ha! Oh these are nice…’

Exhaling a loud breath the youth smiled to himself,

‘Gods… I look forward to and yet fear tomorrow…

…


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nature of a slave reveals itself, and Raveres bares her teeth to a perceived insult, while Sir Jean makes a difficult decision.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Eight

Mariana held a dagger close to her chest as she slipped quietly down an alley. The blade was wet and glistened with crimson. Panic was beginning to mount in her chest.

‘Fucking fools!’ she thought, ‘All they had to do was follow my goddamn plan!’

‘I have to get to Bilbali’s ship… I have to reach it now!’

The streets were loud with the bustling of corsairs, merchants, and courtesans each plying their trade to one another. But quickly the brawl which she had fled was leaking out onto the street in front of the tavern.

‘Blanc-Nuit’ was a small rocky island off the coast of Araby and had become a haven for any ship which docked and paid the mayor’s toll.

It was a hamlet which had been carved out of the rock which formed the island. At its centre was a large fortress, laden with cannon, and streaming with cloth flags of many denominations. Each was a different pirate crew or ‘friendly’ relation of the island, and therefore passing ships could look to see if they would be immediately welcomed, or if they were going to be subject to scalping docking fees.

Though Captain Annio de Bilbali had sworn he was going to sail and deliver Mariana back to Estalia, they had now spent nearly three days in the town.

After bedding the captain Mariana’s fears began getting substantiation.

He became more distant, and she saw him less.

But she wasn’t about to risk all of her eggs in one basket… She needed to pursue other options.

Plying her charms on a few of Annio’s sailors she’d enlisted their help in guarding her as she made inquiries in several taverns for possible passage back to Estalia as soon as tide and wind would allow.

But so far it seemed that there were no captains willing, or friendly enough with the Estalian princes to not sail there freely.

Eventually it came to a head when she got into an argument with a merchant captain from the Empire…

Currently fleeing with one of her sailor-guards in tow she made her way quickly down an alley and back towards the docks.

‘Fucking fools!’ she repeated.

She couldn’t recall what exactly had happened, or who struck first but it didn’t matter; the tavern ended up turning into a bloody brawl…

Men drew steel, pistols, and even broken bottles and very quickly the patrons of the pub created a symphony of carnage.

Mariana had never been in the middle of a fight like that before and she knew she never wanted to be again. Hiding in Raveres’ cabin ensured she avoided the battle on the _Witches Wail_ , and having worked and lived a ‘pleasure’ life she hadn’t seen violence on that scale before…

Not to say she wasn’t able to hold her own… Her escape was assured after she had quickly and skillfully slashed at a distracted man’s throat.

After killing him she pushed and cut her way through the melee, then she departed by leaping through an open window to the street outside. All the while her Druchii dress clung to her awkwardly…

Mariana had neither the height nor the proper musculature to fit the dress and make it wear properly; it had been tailored to Raveres’ exact sizing. The elf’s bust, her hips, her height…

Though the Estalian woman was thankful that most men were dim enough not to notice that she was wearing stolen clothes, clearly not cut or made for her.

The liberal V-neck of the dress gave a pleasant view of her chest, but due to the difference in Mariana’s and Raveres’ bodies the material cut closely into her flesh and her large bosom was nestled uncomfortably within the V.

‘If only I were taller it would have looked better…’ she lamented, ‘Though ample bosom is more than enough to help me get my way!’ With a smirk she agreed with herself and continued moving until she was distracted by the sailor behind her.

“Miss Mariana… I think we ought to go a less populated way!”

Her still living guard’s voice was weak and cowardly but it offered her an idea…

She panted as she stopped at a fork in the alley.

“Fine… this way!”

The sailor nodded and wiped off his bloody cutlass with his belt-sash.

‘Will he do?’ she wondered as they turned down a dimly lit and quiet alley.

Stealing a glance over her shoulder at the young sailor’s face she studied his features more closely.

He was perhaps in his twentieth year… cleanly shaven and his hair was loose, shoulder length, light brown.

His eyes were bright and sharp, the colour of light hazel.

Under his loose fitting sailor’s costume she could see the cut of strong muscles indicating his well-developed worker’s body. He brimmed with life and each breath he took was one of passion. Despite the fighting he’d seen and those being cut down around him, he had fought and escaped with his life.

Looking back in front of her Mariana nodded, ‘Oh he’ll certainly do…’

Though she was still concerned about her sway over Annio she knew she needed an edge…

‘Perhaps this sailor could provide that?’

“What’s your name boy?” she asked.

Ducking under a beam which jutted into the alley from a work-building of some kind the sailor quickly responded, “Oh… I am Julio… Julio Farenso…”

‘Julio’ Mariana whispered.

Calming herself and steadying her breathing the two walked closer as they turned down the next alley. From where they stood they could see the docks and the gulls loudly cried overhead.

“Where are you from Julio?”

The young man furrowed his brow at the change in her voice, “Uh… Miss Mariana is this really the time?”

She smirked and exhaled, ‘No… I suppose not…’

Turning she stared at the young man intensely; he stopped and looked at her in confusion.

“Would you be willing to help me?” she asked.

He wiped his brow and looked behind them tentatively. “Well, I already am?” he said comically.

She smiled, “Yes, yes… but I mean _really_ help me?”

He voiced his confusion and she stepped closer towards him.

With a hand she began running her fingers down her exposed neck and between her large breasts until she gripped the side of the dress’ V-neck.

“Naturally I have myself to offer you… I merely need you to agree…”

He sharply took a breath as she visually teased him, “But… the battle! T-the… Aren’t you with the Captain?”

His face contorted itself as he tried to understand what it was she was doing or playing at.

Despite his confusion she leant forwards and pressed her lips to his as she kissed him. Breaking off the strange embrace her voice climbed in excitement;

“Nothing else matters but the moment! The passions of the moment, the actions _of the moment!_ ”

She smiled and used her left hand to pull aside the material of her dress, framing and exposing her bare breasts into view.

The young man’s eyes widened and he stared at her madly, “W-what?!”

“Just swear to help me! Swear you’ll do anything for me and I will give myself to you right here right now…”

Stuttering and looking around the deserted alleyway nervously the sailor tripped over his words as he witlessly agreed.

“Yes! Of course! A-anything you wish, fucking… damn the captain! I’ll even help you kill him should you desire!”

She smirked coldly and wrapped her left hand around his neck to pull his face towards her chest.

Dumbfounded Julio began kissing her flesh wildly, not wanting to spurn his luck he then began biting and sucking at her skin, eagerly enjoying the sudden willingness of his ‘matron’ to indulge his sexual desire.

Mariana slowly brought her knife overhead, tempted to enjoy his kisses and the licking of his tongue a few moments more.

Giving himself entirely over to his lust Julio dropped his sword and began running his hands along her hips and body, licentiously feeling her curves through the dark material of the Druchii dress, whispering profanity and expletive ridden desires into her skin.

Mentally working herself into frenzy Mariana licked her lips and looked at her knife, smiling widely at the irony; it was the she-elf Raveres’ blade. The same blade which the elf used to cut Mariana’s face for her god, Mariana was about to use in praise of her own…

Aiming the steel at the base of Julio’s exposed neck she moaned loudly as she drove the Druchii dagger into his flesh.

With an odd grunt and moan the man died in her arms and began sliding to the ground as he twitched and exhaled, sputtering drool and blood as he left her grip.

With a moan Mariana looked down either side of the alley before setting onto her prey.

Weaving passionate murder with her artistic desecration of the sailor’s body Mariana satisfied herself with her dark rites… she whispered horrible incantations under her breath in an alien tongue; invoking the dark prince of pleasure before departing the bloody and rended corpse of Julio Farenso.

…

Having satisfied her own desires she then carved the sigil of Slaanesh into the dead man’s exposed and naked chest to assure the favour, attention, and further blessing of her patron god.

Pushing her blood spattered breasts back into the ill-fitting confines of her dress she began laughing deeply as she buried the Druchii blade into the dead man’s chest several more times.

His twitches and spasms filled her with mad glee.

_“Oh Julio…”_ she whispered, “You’ve no idea the aid you’ve lent me!”

She began licking his blood off her dagger and considered felating the blade along her tongue as her blood-drunkenness consumed her mind.

If one were to stop and consider how or why she was sold from an Arabyan pleasure house it would have been obvious that it was not a natural thing…

Mariana was not a prize… Oh no, far from it…

Mariana was a _curse_ , and when she was initially sold to the Druchii Captain Dorath it was under the presumption that he and his crew were going to use her the once and dump her remains into the sea.

However, the strings of fate are often pulled by powers greater than mortals. And to a faithful acolyte of the Prince of Pleasure there were many ways to weasel one’s way out of ill situations.

Now drenched in the man’s blood Mariana stuck to the shadows and hid along the edges of the town until she finally arrived at the docks.

Slipping silently under the piers of the quay she washed off her face and several wet spots of her stolen dress before cleaning the last spots of blood off the blade with licks of her tongue.

Encouraged by her ‘beautiful’ and ‘horrible’ offering she strode back out onto the dock and towards Captain Annio’s ship. Unfazed and unworried about the treachery that she had committed. She felt revitalised…

The excitement of a fresh kill titillated and erotically filled her with passionate confidence.

She’d assure herself of her return to Estalia… Whether Captain Annio would be operating of his own free will would be another subject entirely.

Smirking to herself she licked her lips and hid her dagger back into the folds of the dress as she noiselessly stepped along the wooden boards of the dock.

‘Let’s see about that captain’s course, shall we?’

…

When Jacque awoke he rubbed opened his eyes painfully. Sunlight was pouring into his tent and a familiar voice was calling to him.

“What in the Lady’s name is going on?”

It was loud… It seemed, angry… it was, wait. Who’s voice could that be?

‘Father?’ Jacque wondered, ‘No, no… it must be…’

“S-Sir Jean?” he croaked out dryly.

The man nodded and Jacque blinked until he could see clearly.

“Aye boy, now… Do you mind explaining to me why, when I went to wake you, I was greeted with a half-naked she-elf in your tent?”

Jacque sniggered and immediately stopped his laughter as his eyes adjusted and he saw his master’s unimpressed expression.

“Half-naked?” Jacque furrowed his brow and immediately became defensive, “I had no part in that! I swear it! When I left she was still clothed, all I did was drape my blanket over her, t-that’s it. I am not the one to blame!”

The knight scoffed but allowed the squire to continue.

“Truly! I am not! She came to my tent as I slept and then… f-fell asleep. I couldn’t handle the proximity and so I thought the wisest course of action was to use her tent…”

Stretching and indicating the many soft pillows under which he had slept the squire smiled, “It was a most restful decision master… These Arabyans know how to make a guest feel at home!”

Sir Jean looked at the quality blanket, the several plush pillows, and the stupid grin across his squire’s face and snarled in martial disgust, ‘Such luxuries sap one’s strength and combat prowess…’

Grunting he pointed at his student and motioned with his arm,

“Get up! They’re preparing to break-fast but you and I are going to be running drills before eating.”

Jacque’s expression soured and he immediately began a complaint; however the elder Breton raised his voice and stopped the youth.

“Enough! We’ve become sloppy ever since that elf appeared. You’re allowing her foul magic’s to poison your mind… So, we shall drill and spar.”

With a quick nod Sir Jean left before Jacque could voice any protest.

The youth threw his arms out and fell backwards into the bed, ‘Gods damn it… even when I do the right thing I still end up punished!’

…

In her sleep Raveres had kicked and kicked until finally the knight’s old boots came off. Without her shoes on she then rolled and lashed out as she wrapped and fought against the sheet Jacque had laid across her until her ill-fitting trousers had fallen from her hips and bunched up at her knees.

And so when Sir Jean first opened the tent flap he was greeted with the pale nudity of Raveres’ thighs.

She’d fought in her sleep until the blanket was mostly wrapped around her torso, and barely covering her waist.

He exclaimed in surprise and was aghast at the fact she was in Jacque’s tent. But he cooled minutely with relief when he saw that his squire was not at all in the tent with her.

Closing the flap he rumbled quietly in his chest as he stepped towards the tent which was originally intended for the she-elf.

‘We’re going to run the length of this camp until the little licentious creature drops…’ The knight thought.

Pushing the untied flap open he loudly called, “Jacque!”

The boy stirred before he finally woke.

…

At the sound of men yelling, camels groaning, and loud movement the Druchii awoke with a start.

Struggling against her blanket she swore and fought an arm out from the ‘prison’, reaching wildly to her side for her sword. In the panic stricken moments of early wakefulness she was under the impression she about to be assailed.

It took a few more moments of struggle against the sheet for Raveres to calm down and realise that she was safe. Nothing had transpired in the night. She was alone, and she was still breathing.

Fighting the blanket away from her torso she looked down and furrowed her brow at her kicked off boots and pants.

“What on earth?”

Her eyes widened and she immediately brought her trousers back up and began pulling the ill-fitting leather boots back on.

Her heart dropped and she rumbled with rage as her tired mind proposed the only possibility.

Obviously her teasing and the tension she’d wrought on the squire was too much and he actually had grown the nerve to try something…

Under her breath she growled, “I’ll kill the little shit,”

Gripping her sword’s handle she pushed the flap of her tent open and began moving with a furious step, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the bright morning light.

“Where’s the boy!” she roared.

Several Arabyan slaves looked at her with confusion and then apprehension when they saw that she was armed.

Kicking in the side of the tent that was to have been hers she stabbed the material several times before concluding that it was empty.

Likewise the knight’s tent was also empty. His armour and sword sat in a carefully ordered pile beside his rolled and stowed bed.

Raveres still did not calm, her rage continued to build as her mind became convinced she had been violated in some way…

‘I’ll kill him… he thinks he may take advantage of me in my _sleep_?’

She strode past the three small tents towards the centre of the camp.

‘Did he try anything else? Did he…’

She stopped herself and gulped as she tried to focus on how her groggy and freshly woken up body was feeling.

‘I… I don’t feel penetrated…’ she exhaled a small breath of relief. She became somewhat confused and hazy as she tried to recollect the series of events last night.

Eventually drawing an inconclusive blank she rumbled and strode forwards all the same, ‘I… Aghhh! I’ll sodomise him with this sword nonetheless!’

She looked around her for any sign of the two Bretons but was growing more upset and frustrated that she couldn’t see them, until finally, over the lip of a small sand-dune beside the great road, she saw the elder knight and his squire jogging closely around the perimeter of the camp.

As soon as she saw the boy she felt a mad boiling in her chest.

‘He thinks that he may do with me as he wishes? I’m going to flay his cock living!’

Holding her sword to her side she began a sprint towards the two humans. The camp was in varying states of waking and not all the members of Sadalsuud’s caravan had begun their work, but the few who were awake leapt away from and out of Raveres’ way.

She kicked up sand and a trail of dust as she cut her way through the camp towards the Bretons and as she came closer to the two jogging humans Raveres issued a loud cry and barred her teeth.

Confused the men turned towards her and she lowered her head as she knocked Sir Jean out her way to tackle Jacque from the side.

Horror was etched across the squire’s face.

Having pushed Sir Jean to the side the elder knight exclaimed and swore loudly as Raveres brought Jacque to the sandy ground.

She raised her free hand high and hit the youth across the jaw before wrapping her long fingers around his delicate neck.

The whole while Raveres was swearing and loudly threatening the boy.

…

“Think you can dishonour me? Think you can use me?!” the she-elf screamed.

Rage oozed off of her like a palpable scent and she brought her sword arm above her head as Sir Jean came to his feet.

“No!” he cried.

Lunging forwards he tackled Raveres off of the squire and the two landed awkwardly onto the sand.

With a practised hand Sir Jean reached to his leg and brought a small dagger from his boot.

The elf tried rolling and flipping herself into a dominant position but Sir Jean instead disengaged and backed away as he readied his small weapon defensively.

“Druchii! What in the Lady’s name has possessed you?!”

Her mouth contorted and her eyes narrowed past the knight towards the squire.

“Your little bastard thought to make me his whore in the night! But I suspect he lost heart and couldn’t follow through!”

Sir Jean shook his head.

“No! He did not… I swear it; I saw what state you were in. You must have turned fitfully in your sleep!”

Raveres’ eyebrow twitched and she looked into the knight’s face as she straightened her back. The knight continued, desperately trying to come off as genuine,

“I heard you, all night… you cried out even. I know why! My boy has done no wrong!”

In their tongue the knight kept his eyes on the she-elf but spoke to the coughing Jacque. Though they had already spoken of it earlier Sir Jean needed to hear it now, the knight needed to know if the squire had lied…

“Boy did you touch her in the night? Did you undress her?”

“I…” he began sputtering, “N-no! I… I may have touched her but I did no such thing I… I didn’t –wouldn’t ever do that! I couldn’t do that!”

“She took m-my pillow and so… I switched tents otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to sleep!”

Sir Jean nodded and took a steady stress filled breath.

“Jacque, swear by the Lady, on all the relics, and by everything that is holy, in King Louen’s name.”

Jacque nodded and looked at Raveres with utter terror, “I do! I do I swear!”

Sir Jean cleared his throat and the murderous Druchii looked at him as he spoke in Druhir.

“My lady he swears he did not touch you… He left because you were screaming in the night… You were turning with terrors of your own and he couldn’t sleep from your noises…”

Raveres’ eyes began blinking and she relaxed in her shoulders.

“Y-you’re lying to protect him! Only natural… But your squire is a-“

“He speaks the truth! You’ve never been in a battle before starting this mission of yours, have you?”

The she-elf moved her right foot back slightly, “W-what does that matter?”

“You see their faces in the night don’t you?”

She opened her mouth but stopped. Sir Jean nodded to himself, ‘You’ve got it… she’s overreacting, keep on this! She’s not what she seems Jean, you know it!’

“I bet you can smell it, right?”

Sir Jean slowly straightened and lowered his dagger.

“…The dirt… maybe the smell of the horses? The smell of the men… The smoke, the sound of the steel…”

Raveres tensed and curled her lip as she lowered her sword.

‘It’s working!’ he thought, ‘I knew she was broken as soon as we got her awake…’ Sir Jean, a veteran of many battles and even a few wars knew battle fatigue when he saw it… He’d seen far too many men consumed by invisible wounds, strong men, armoured and well skilled; brought low by a battle in their soul… A battle usually the domain of priests…

He cleared his throat and remained steady as he spoke,

“How old are you Druchii?”

She shook her head but remained staring at Sir Jean.

“I know you’re young for an elf… So I wager that this was your big chance to make a name for yourself?”

Raveres’ chest dropped as she exhaled.

‘Got her…’

“How many men did you sail out with?”

The elf took a sharp breath.

‘She was not liking this at all, and visibly squirmed uncomfortably as she began to visibly regret her attack on Jacque.’

“How many men?”

Her voice was low and her face twitched as she finally responded, “Fewer than I would have liked…”

Sir Jean nodded.

“And yet you lived?”

She scoffed nervously.

‘She’s acting through and through… like all nobles, or like a swan… They want to appear all grace on the surface, but she’s struggling… and it’s bubbling to the surface.’

“I swear to you… I know what it’s like.”

Raveres looked down somewhat confused as her own mind raced.

“Waking up in sweats, seeing and hearing things that aren’t there, the nightmares…” Sir Jean nodded.

“I know how it looks, but I swear to you that my squire did nothing to you, I had him swear by our gods, and our King.”

The she-elf twitched and her sword hand lowered.

‘She’s lost her resolve, I can already tell… By the lady, just how badly did this elf’s defeat affect her?’

He nodded and now began the next stage in his talking down.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die in this desert…”

Her expression showed that she too agreed, Sir Jean changed his tone and tried to invoke her noble-blood,

“If you were to die out here… would your family even know of your fate?”

The question gave her pause and she looked down for a second before looking back up.

Sir Jean nodded, “Please… listen to reason.”

Raveres blinked several times and stepped backwards.

“If he…” she began.

Her sword lowered and the tip hit the sand.

She exhaled loudly.

With a loud exclamation the she-elf turned.

“If I were half the Druchii I should be I’d have killed you all as soon as I had the strength!”

Sir Jean hadn’t relaxed but he exhaled a little and resumed a steady breathing pattern. ‘Can I risk it? I she’s as far along as I think this might work…’

“Why haven’t you?”

The knight’s mouth formed a sarcastic expression and he continued with his verbal gamble,

“Cut me down, cut the boy down. I’ve seen Druchii do far worse, for far less.”

Raveres looked up and the two stared at one another again until Sir Jean shook his head.

“Must be a terrible thing… to live in fear and distrust at all times.”

He lowered his arms and relaxed, his dagger now completely lowered.

“But… Will this be a reoccurring thing?” he pointed between himself and Raveres.

“You take a slight… react poorly, make threats and lash out impotently… If it is I doubt even after you receive a translator your journey will ever succeed.”

Raveres lowered her face dejectedly.

Sir Jean took a step forwards and she then looked up in defeat, her voice softly declaring, “This was not supposed to happen…”

The elder Breton’s expression relaxed as she stabbed the sword into the ground and she stepped away from it.

“My idiot sponsor… the man I was to follow… The fool got himself killed, and when he died I did too…”

She growled and looked to their left, over the great desert.

“Yet here I am! Drawing breath!” she shook her head and placed her hands on her hips.

“I see traitors everywhere and yet… I know nothing! I…I was taught how to wield a sword, I know the rites of Khaine, I…I know the protocols of the black court, I can tabulate and compute business, I have poetry and stories committed to memory, and I still bear the scars across my palms from my childhood discipline…”

She paused and her eyes searched the horizon wildly.

“Yet… I only know my own language. And out here I’m as helpless as a goddamn newborn baby!”

“I survived but I’ve been at the mercy and the _charity_ of others for four days!”

She ran her hands through her hair and then shook with emotion as she looked back at the knight.

“Do you know the _insult_ it has been to say words of gratitude, _to humans?_ To have to _apologise_ … to humans?!”

She laughed, “I… I begged to be killed you know? Before being thrown off my ship and drowning, I begged that pirate cunt to end my life, honour and my shame demanded it.”

Raveres turned away and sat down defeated.

“But I couldn’t even succeed at that…”

She scoffed, “And here I am, thrashing in my sleep from the weakness of… of fucking nightmares?! And… I…”

She grew quiet and still, lowering her head so her face became obstructed by her hair.

Sir Jean looked behind to his squire and waved the boy off quietly, “Go back to our tents and continue on normally. Some of his men speak our tongue, fear naught…”

Jacque stood and eyed the situation with complete dismay.

“Go Jacque… I’ll be fine my boy… You’re safe just go.”

The Squire knew enough not to argue and he nodded before quickly running down the side of the sand dune back to the caravan’s camp.

A few slaves had watched the brief fight for a few moments before returning to their work.

Looking back at the sulking elf Sir Jean sheathed his dagger and slowly walked beside her to sit down.

Raveres’ face was somewhat red and her eyes appeared blood shot, but her skin was dry and her expression was plain.

“I am an old man…”

At the sudden appearance of the knight’s voice Raveres’ shoulders moved, but her head remained low.

“And I have lived and seen many things in my life.”

She exhaled but remained still.

“I’m going to tell you something, probably no Druchii ever really gets to hear.”

She furrowed her brow and slowly looked up to meet the wrinkled expression of the gruff Bretonnian.

“You need more than just yourself to survive.”

He looked away and over the expansive sandy hills ahead of them.

“And sometimes… Though it seems a trifle, just to talk, speaking with another is beneficial.”

Raveres scoffed, “Usually we’d beat a slave, rip an enemy’s flesh or-“

Sir Jean raised his hand and interrupted, funnily enough the she-elf relented and respectfully quieted to listen.

“You’ve never been on your own before this, have you?”

The she-elf stopped and took a gulp nervously, her silence was enough of an answer and the knight continued,

“Why in all the gods’ names did you decide to sail this far from your home?”

Raveres darted her eyes away and her voice came out in a meek whisper, “I had to… I had to do something grand, I want to… wanted to… outdo them all.”

“Outdo whom?”

“M-my brothers and sisters…”

Sir Jean smiled painfully, “Ah.”

The knight remained quiet and looked out to the sand sea taking a deep breath as a slight breeze swept over them.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

Raveres looked at him and began to twitch and seethe.

“W-what can you teach me!?” she finally exclaimed. “Damn you old man! I know you have wisdom, just… just fucking _tell me_!”

Her voice climbed in desperation and she moved to her knees while digging her nails and fingers into the sand madly.

“I… I need to not fail! I can’t fail…”

She almost sobbed involuntarily and at the break in her voice she raised a sand covered hand to her mouth in horror.

Sir Jean slowly opened his eyes and turned to face her.

“Raveres?”

She looked at the knight and wordlessly nodded, her eyes filled with sadness.

“There’s nothing I can teach a creature such as you…”

Her expression rose in insult and he shook his head while raising a hand,

“Where would I even begin?” He dryly chuckled, “What kind of a tale is this? What is it even that _you_ want?”

She opened her mouth but when she went to speak all the air came from her chest as if she’d been shot with a crossbow bolt, finally and fearfully she responded,

“I don’t know…”

Raveres tensed and looked down.

The knight looked away and nodded, “I understand that…”

“I mean…” she began, “I think I know, but. I, I actually don’t as well.”

The elder knight chuckled and looked to the sky before smiling at the Druchii.

“Perhaps we’re not so different after all?”

She raised an eyebrow in confusion.

He sighed and nodded.

“What would you want me to teach you?”

Raveres looked up and stared into Sir Jean’s eyes.

“Would you…”

Her voice faltered and she pressed her palms flat to the sandy ground before bowing her head in complete submission.

“…teach me… A-anything! I owe you my life… Since you r-re…”

she groaned and avoided saying the word ‘rescued’ and continued,

“I’ve been yours… I need your services… I need you as my sponsor…”

She shook her head, “I have nothing else… I will die from a knife in the back, I know it… F-fate, the gods, they brought us together for a purpose!”

Her tone once again began to tinge with emotion.

“I have never been so shamed… So low… s-so worthless in all my life.”

Darting her hand to Sir Jean’s boot she took hold of his dagger and he began to protest.

Rising upwards he took his hand and made him wrap his fingers around the blade’s handle.

Pointing the sharp end into the flesh of her neck she skilfully directed it towards where her artery would be.

Staring at the knight her face began to grow red across her cheeks and her eyes crinkled painfully.

“If you refuse… please… _please, end my suffering…_ ”

She stifled a sob and steeled herself.

“But, if you spare me… I swear… I swear to abide by your strange customs… I will make offerings to your gods if that is something you wish; I will do anything to earn your trust and to redeem myself…”

She shut her eyes and took a sharp breath.

Pressing the tip of the dagger into her pale neck a small sprout of crimson began to ooze around the tip of the blade and she shuddered as she pulled the blade into herself.

Sir Jean held his breath and seriously thought about what was happening…

It was the longest moment of Raveres’ life and she remained in a limbo as her mind chanted a loud noisy chorus of maddening thoughts… until finally she felt the human rise and pull the weapon out from her fingers and off her neck.

With an expression of shock she opened her eyes and looked up at the knight.

Sir Jean furrowed his brow pensively and kept the dagger in his hands as he eyed the bloodied tip.

Remaining on her knees the Druchii exhaled a heavy breath before beginning to hyperventilate.

“Y-you… y-you di-didn’t k-kill m-me?”

An expression of disbelief and panic was across her features as Sir Jean lowered and took on a paternal tone, “Breathe… Look, look at me. Breathe, in and out, like me.”

He demonstrated and his calming voice was to sooth her as he touched his hand to her shoulder.

“Slowly… slowly… In through your nose, out through the mouth. That’s it… Breathe calmly…”

…

It took a few moments for Raveres to calm down but she eventually did and Sir Jean allowed the elf to wrap her arms around him in a brief embrace.

The knight pushed her off and she shuddered in embarrassment as he stood back up.

Extending his hand to her he quietly and calmly spoke, “Come now… to your feet milady.”

She refused his hand and remained on her knees.

“So… we’re agreed?” her voice was plainly insecure and her expression was completely helpless.

Sir Jean shook his head, “Look… we’ll eat first and…”

“Knight… I cannot bear any more shame… Either you slit my throat or I will… Are. We. Agreed?”

Her eyes and face turned to stone and she held her breath as she came to her feet.

Staring the knight down he finally relented and exclaimed; “Gods damn you for your impudence! _Yes!_ We’re agreed…”

Exhaling a heavy breath Raveres looked down to the sand and then back up nervously. She almost couldn’t believe it and her face contorted into innocent glee, expressing emotions and honest feelings that a Druchii was never supposed to express.

“I…I…” she stuttered, clearing her throat she nodded, “I will not fail… m-my lord… I swear I shall have a castle built for you…”

She bowed her head in respect and remained lowered offering future gains until Sir Jean pressed a hand to her shoulder and straightened her back up.

“Slaves… gold! Why… I… I’ll even secure a marriage with one of my cousins should you desire!”

The knight shook his head awkwardly and felt revulsion at her offers.

“Enough, enough… Oh gods this is a mistake already…”

He shook his head and turned around to the camp.

Beginning to walk away from the crest of the sandy hill Raveres picked up her sword and began following.

“Now…” the knight huffed, “I know no other way of teaching other than my own. Taking a squire and instilling in them martial lessons, humility, duty, oath-keeping, and honour…”

Sir Jean looked behind at Raveres as she followed him down the sand dune and towards the camp.

“I have no idea what would even translate for you or to you in your Druchii ways…”

He groaned “Never have I had a student so old and a woman…”

At both qualities Raveres twitched with insult, “W-what!? O-old?”

She grumbled and whispered, “You’re one to talk human…”

Sir Jean stopped and turned around, his serious face was almost exactly like her father’s and Raveres immediately felt the compulsion to tilt her head downwards and avert her gaze.

The man’s voice was level and controlled but she could tell he was irritated.

“I shan’t force you to commit anything more in terms of apology… Nor will I be subjecting you to lessons which I know would otherwise fall upon your deaf knife-ears.”

The knight turned back and continued walking as she followed, smirking in subdued amusement at the racial slur.

“We will forget all this business and…” the knight paused and looked back at Raveres.

“Look just… go back into the camp, gods above… I need to think about this.”

…

Sadalsuud was still sleeping, snoring loudly when the Breton and Druchii returned to the camp.

“Master…”

A fearful slave prodded and tried rousing the great merchant prince.

“M-master… your guests, they were at one another’s throats…”

Groggily the Arabyan came to and wiped his face. The way he had been sleeping caused his beard and moustache hair to bend and position comically to the right side of his face.

“Ah! W-what?”

He blinked and shook off his sleep.

“A thousand apologies my lord… but you told me to wake you and tell you of your guests?”

Sadalsuud nodded and began standing from his blanket and bed.

“Aye, yes, yes… Well?”

The slave bowed and began dressing his master, “Nothing troubling happened in the night. The few men that we suspected to be envying your prize faltered and left her be as soon as they discovered she was now armed…”

Stretching his neck backwards and adjusting his belt the merchant prince smiled.

“She’s a sharp jewel to be sure!”

The slave nodded, “Yes master… but as I said they were just at one another’s throats earlier.”

Sadalsuud furrowed his brow and was about to ask more when there was a loud horn blown outside.

…

Some of the Arabyan’s slaves stood to greet the elf and Breton with trays of food.

The sight of servants waiting on her made Raveres instantly lighten and she was able to act somewhat like her home-self.

Wordlessly she waved the slave to follow her to one of the few stools not yet packed away which sat in a semi-circle around the extinguished fire in the centre of the camp.

The slave quietly and motionlessly sat beside her, holding the meal tray up so that she could eat at her leisure.

Though she was a bundle of nerves, Raveres did her best to daintily feed herself.

She’d eaten desperately before in front of the monks and she was keen not to ruin her appearance before Sadalsuud’s slaves, or himself again…

Courteously she nodded to Sir Jean as he waved the slave away, content to eat just the bread which had been placed upon the tray.

With the crusts in his sword-hand the Breton walked back to his tent and started dressing in his armour.

He waved his squire to follow and the Druchii smirked as Jacque tentatively glanced at her before quickly darting into the tent to assist his master.

Raveres exhaled tensely and began to take stock of her prospects;

She’d now calmed down, she’d regained self-control, but rather than calmly plan her next moves she was too occupied with mentally flagellating herself for her earlier hunger and rage induced weakness…

‘But…’ she smiled privately, ‘The Knight has believed me.’

Washing down her mouthful of bread with a weak spice wine, her thought continued,

‘Well, there was more than enough truth in there to convince him… perhaps too much truth.’ she exhaled satisfactorily, ‘and I suppose my acting performance sealed it.’

‘Though that little shit Jacque is up to something. And I swear I’ll actually slit my own throat if I have to ride that goddamn horse with him again…’

Looking to her side the knight exited his tent armoured and called his steed over to him. Stowing his sleeping roll in his saddle bag Raveres waved to get his attention.

“Sir Jean…” she called.

He nodded, pointed to the horse and issued an order to the emerging Jacque.

The squire resumed stowing the knight’s affects as Sir Jean came closer to Raveres.

“How may I assist milady?”

Raveres was about to speak when she was interrupted by a loud horn.

Sir Jean’s hand reactively lowered and gripped his sword’s hilt.

Raveres stood suddenly, knocking the slave and tray over in front of her as she began looking around the camp.

The slaves began stowing the camels and carts with a quickened pace and Sadalsuud emerged from his tent, half dressed.

The guardsmen were pointing and yelling at one another as one of their number, the guard captain, sprinted towards his master.

Sir Jean furrowed his brow and called to Jacque.

Raveres snarled, she didn’t like not understanding the loud commotion around her.

“What is transpiring knight?”

The Bretonnian nodded, “From what I’ve overheard so far the sentries have spotted ‘red-riders’ across the dunes.”

Furrowing her brow Raveres snapped, “What? Raiders? I thought Sadalsuud boasted none would attack us?”

Sir Jean started towards Sadalsuud, “Red-Riders are not raiders… they’d have to steal to be raiders.”

His expression became more serious and he raised his voice as he got further from her.

“Get your breastplate on and make ready your sword!”

Raveres’ eyes widened.

Since she stood the slave that she had knocked out of the way had been cowering at her feet. Prostrating himself before her, sure of either the lash or her sword as punishment for not getting out of her way quick enough.

She smiled.

‘A chance to finally see what this knight can do…’

“Slave…”

Slowly the man at her feet tilted his head to meet her gaze.

“Follow me.”

Though she knew that the human couldn’t understand her words she was sure he knew what she’d meant by her tone.

Stepping past the slave she headed for her tent.

Though the slave was still terrified of her he understood enough to put on and tighten her armour.

However he didn’t understand that she also wanted him to tie her hair. Her failure to convey what she wanted coupled with his fumbling attempts to apologise and supplicate himself to her irritated Raveres to the point that she aggressively pushed the slave out of her tent.

Now alone she stood and brought her hair off her face as she tied the long silver locks into a tight ponytail. Adjusting her gauntlet on her sword hand she stopped nervously and looked at the scratched and dented metal glove.

Reminded of Annio’s boot heel crushing her fingers she paused and then looked out the tent flap as the voices and commotion of the camp built louder and louder.

Taking a deep breath she stepped out and into the sunlight.

…

As soon as the Druchii reappeared Sir Jean patted Sadalsuud’s arm and made his way towards her.

He raised his voice and the elf attentively listened,

“The riders are on their way, and while we outnumber them they are vicious savages who bow to no man…”

Raveres nodded and her arm visibly tensed as she tightened her grip on her sword.

“Sadalsuud’s caravan…” Sir Jean paused uncomfortably, “And slaves will be easily slaughtered, we’re far too slow to make a run for it so we are to ride out and meet them in the dunes.”

The Druchii’s expression remained the same but her eyes betrayed her nervousness.

Pointing to the mounting guardsmen Sir Jean continued, “Sadalsuud is not a fighter and will remain with his caravan as they work to get underway. He’s lent you his horse… We, as well as his guard captain shall ride out to meet them and buy them time to escape.”

Raveres furrowed her brow in irritation,

“What? He risks nothing this way! He can buy more men and a new horse! The greedy piss-ant shows only his cowardice…”

Sir Jean began making for his horse and Jacque as Raveres followed, glancing all around her with apprehension at the mounted guardsmen and the terrified scurrying slaves.

“That may be Druchii… But I’m surprised you’re not as enamoured with the opportunity to spill blood as I thought you’d be.”

She grumbled as a slave brought Sadalsuud’s horse towards her.

“I’m not a cavalry fighter…”

Sir Jean mounted and issued orders to his squire before laughing.

“No? Some noble of Naggarond you are!”

Raveres recoiled in surprise and opened her mouth to respond when the guard captain loudly began speaking with the knight.

Stepping towards the grey Arabyan horse the Druchii nervously prayed under her breath, ‘Dark Mother, may I not fall from the saddle…’

…

Sir Jean had ordered Jacque to remain, away from the battle, to guard the gilded books which constituted their cargo and mission.

Before the caravan’s cavalry guard left the camp the elder Knight ordered; ‘Should I fall, you must ride out, leave Sadalsuud and make your way to our Duke. You must not fail should I die, nor should you think of battle yourself…’

Though he wanted to protest, without a word, Jacque humbly swore to follow his master’s word.

…

“Gods below!” Raveres swore.

The horses mounted the crest of the dune and began riding directly for their foe.

To her they appeared as mere pinpricks on the very end of the horizon.

Sir Jean laughed and pointed at her with his sword, “Keep backwards in your saddle! You’ll fall out as soon as we join battle if you keep riding like that.”

Growling under her breath Raveres tried to follow the instruction, but the constant vibrating rhythm of the horses’ gallop made her lurch forwards uncomfortably.

A cloud of dust was rising from behind their riding enemy and blowing high into the sky.

“Druchii! Listen to me-“

Impatiently Raveres roared over the hollering of the guards and the rumbling of the hooves, “I can fight you know!”

The knight grumbled and looked back ahead.

Their formation was a standard line abreast and in the centre of the galloping horses were the guard captain and their horn-blowing signalman. A little farther down the line to the right flank Raveres and Sir Jean rode tightly beside one another.

“When we get closer the whole line is going to tighten and turn into a chevron.”

Raveres furrowed her brow and perked her ears, “A what?!”

Sir Jean raised his voice, “A V! We’re going to turn into a big V!”

Raveres nodded and looked back ahead.

Their enemies were much closer now and she could see fluttering red banners held high.

Sir Jean’s expression became more nervous the more the distance between the two bodies of cavalry got smaller.

Watching the aged warrior’s expression made her become somewhat terrified and she finally felt the compulsion to ask, “What the hell is wrong knight?!”

He shook his head and darted his eyes to look at her, “We…”

He looked at the guard captain farther down the line and then yelled, “We’re not going to have time!”

Raveres furrowed her brow and then their horn-man blew his trumpet and the formation tried to tighten into a triangular chevron.

But just like Sir Jean had said, they hadn’t enough time before their enemy was upon them.

The guard captain had waited too late and the two units of horses smashed together awkwardly, the more skilled among the red-riders easily passed through gaps and holes in the Arabyan formation and quickly turned around to begin the melee from behind.

Raveres was separated from Sir Jean by a maddened and crazed fool wielding two curved swords wildly.

The horrible sounds of wailing, horses screaming, and metal scraping together filled the air as the men began fighting.

Now in the thick of it Raveres honed in and thought only about the madman in front of her.

Struck with her beauty the man licked his chapped and cracked bloody lips as he bared his filed teeth in a grotesque smile.

Snarling in revulsion and without a second’s hesitation Raveres roared and brought her arm up as she turned her horse to the side.

With a quick lunge she passed her longsword through his open middle and stabbed through his cloth clothing.

Groaning and sputtering the man keeled forwards as she removed the blade from his gut.

Falling from his saddle Raveres turned to her right side to engage another of the riders.

The few that saw her and were not otherwise engaged in fighting were not going to be distracted like their now dead brother and began a furious attack.

Bringing her arm upwards Raveres held back a blow and parried easily, the man tried to repost her but showed too much of his arm and she quickly lowered the bottom of her blade and withdrew it across his unarmoured arm.

Pushing down she opened his blade arm up along the length of his forearm and he regarded the wound with horror as he began screaming.

Cut veins began pouring blood and he attempted an attack.

Splattering her face as he whipped his arm forwards Raveres screamed as she leant forwards in the saddle and impaled her sword into his throat.

Though, not minding how she was sitting or the distance she had to cross as the man fell backwards off his horse Raveres’ blade, still in his body, followed… and she flew after it.

Letting the reigns fall from her hand she went diving out of her saddle onto the sand below.

Biting her lip as she hit the ground she swore loudly and wanted to scream, ‘but!’ she nodded, ‘I still have the bloody sword!’

Pushing herself to her feet she quickly looked to her left and just in time to dodge and parry a new attack.

Though he had the advantage of being on horseback Raveres was a much better swordsman, and she quickly and skillfully dodged his clumsy and brutish attacks.

She cried out and growled with her movements, swearing and steaming as she failed to find an opening enough to deliver a killing blow.

Around her the melee progressed and she caught a glimpse, past her own fight, of the knight Sir Jean locked in tight combat.

The two men’s horses were almost touching and the men’s hilts were locked together as they yelled and stared one another down. The stalemate was ended when Sir Jean let go of his reins and buried his dagger into his opponent’s throat.

Smiling eagerly Raveres felt strange approval of the move before turning her attention to her own Red-Rider.

Parrying the man’s lunge she finally saw her chance and she committed a pirouette of a dodge, using her free hand to pull the man, using his own momentum against him, closer.

Responding with a lunge of her own she buried her blade into the upper part of his chest, just above his heart.

Kicking his horse in the flank Raveres jumped back as the mortally wounded man tried to remain on his now wildly bucking steed.

Though these Red-Riders didn’t seem too skillful a threat to her, Raveres was horrified to find that when she turned around in a circle, these unarmoured savages had cut up and killed nearly a third of the caravan guards already.

The few fights she saw immediately in her vicinity were not going well for Sadalsuud’s men and some even turned to and put to flight… Routing from the battle

‘How?! What lack of will do these whelps have!’

“Turn and fight you cowards!” she bellowed at the retreating men.

Growling she stomped across the sand towards Sadalsuud’s horse.

The stallion wasn’t a stranger to battle it seemed and though it appeared skittish of the red-riders’ steeds it hadn’t gotten that far from her.

Climbing back atop the horse Raveres took a tight hold of the reins and dug her heels in as she rode to join the nearest fight to her.

Though she was excited her breath was going somewhat nervously before she joined battle again.

Her apprehension over the strange and sudden malaise spurred her onwards and she turned her frustration into energy as she loudly cried, _“For Khaine!”_

Driving her blade into a red-rider’s back the man coughed and screamed in pain. Dropping his sword and slumping from his saddle, Raveres’ sudden attack had saved one of Sadalsuud’s guardsmen who was engaged from his right side.

Riding her horse around the Druchii didn’t notice at first, but she was quickly becoming more comfortable with real fighting…

She was unbelievably shaken inside, but outside she had become still as a cup of water and moved with strange fluidity… Barring her earlier fall from the saddle of course.

Blood had splattered her face and she felt the bitter coppery taste upon her tongue and she felt… Powerful

With a strange little smile she set to and began fighting harder, cutting down another rider with ease.

Sir Jean had won several of his fights and he forced his tired old steed closer to his Druchii charge.

“Raveres!” he called, out of breath, “The captain is slain…”

He pointed with his bloody sword past their area farther down the now dust covered battlefield to several collapsed horses and groaning men on the ground.

Over the din of arms the horn blew a retreat and Raveres looked to Sir Jean, “What signal is that?!” she asked.

Around them a few of the guardsmen began to turn their mounts in an attempt to break the melee.

“Damn it all!” Sir Jean groaned, “That idiot horn-blower has sounded the retreat!”

Raveres felt bile and hatred rise in her mouth.

Squinting through the thickening haze of the battle she spotted the man making the loud call.

He’d fallen, or perhaps his mount had taken a deadly blow? In any case the man had become unhorsed and stumbled along the field with only one arm through the chaos of the battle.

Snarling Raveres pointed her sword at him and roared to Sir Jean, “Tell these cowards I’ll flay them if they try to run, I will kill that man, you make sure they stay and fucking fight!”

Sir Jean furrowed his brow in concerned protest but before he could vocalise his contention Raveres kicked her mount into a gallop and she leveled her sword to cut the cowardly signalman down.

…


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raveres is made to feel as a fish out of water once more, Captain Annio shoots some birds, and Elianna wets herself in fear. Plus an Author’s announcement afterword.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Nine

The battle turned back into their favour after Raveres slaughtered the signalman and Sir Jean rallied several of the faltering Arabyans.

Having worked herself into a mental frenzy Raveres set herself towards the main grouping of the Red-Riders and simply began hacking away at them.

She heard her sword lodge itself through the shoulder and collar bone of an opponent and she growled as she speedily kicked the man away as she pulled back her weapon.

Without missing a beat as soon as the weapon was free she then buried the blood-slick blade into another opponent.

Flicking her arm as hard as she could she drew the sharp Druchii steel through his skull and the flesh of his brow like a hot blade through ice.

Muscles and skin tore off as blood and cranial fluid spread out as the man died noisily.

Her heart was beating and skipping so hard she feared it was going to come up her throat and out of her body, but Raveres continued forwards.

Her arm burned, and her shoulder muscles felt like they were tearing, but she bared her teeth, and used her pain, anger, and frustration to bolster her attack.

With each swing she’d chip the weaker steel of her opponent’s blades whilst also knocking them out of the way or she would land a lethal blow through the sliver of an opening.

The Arabyan guards who had rallied followed Sir Jean as he directed a counter attack against the remaining Red-Riders.

Mid-combat Raveres stole a glance away from her opponent and smiled approvingly at the sight of the returning knight and guardsmen.

Her current foe, a lightly armoured rider with long dark hair and deep-set sunken features, took advantage of Raveres’ looking away and kicked his leg forwards at Sadalsuud’s horse. He had hoped to throw her from the saddle but the she-elf pulled the reins and turned awkwardly, swaying severely but remaining balanced.

The sudden motion caused her stroke to fall and miss its target.

Rather than a killing blow Raveres ended up lodging her sword in her opponent’s arm.

He screamed and looked down in terror at the wound, not only had his attempt failed but he’d been repaid ten-fold.

Rather than a clean cut through the limb the blade had passed through only one of the bones in his forearm and stopped in the space between the ulna and radius.

With her sword lodged in-between the bones Raveres roared as she withdrew the blade back up. Blood splattered and flicked off her steel in a wide arc as she readied another strike.

With a guttural and loud scream she brought the blade down again and the man let go of his reins to bring his functional left arm up to pathetically defend himself.

Her sword came down and cut straight through the other limb to embed into his skull.

With a scream the man’s eyes fluttered and he groaned as his horse began bolting from under him.

Falling from his saddle Raveres’ blade came free from his head and she panted to catch her breath.

Sir Jean and the returning cavalry attacked and began following off the remaining barbarians as she leaned back in her saddle and allowed herself to relax.

It was terrible.

It was bloody.

And finally Raveres began to enjoy it.

She moved quicker, things seemed easier to handle, and everything was more natural.

‘This is what you were meant to do as a Druchii…’ she assured herself, ‘You’re becoming what you are meant to be…’

She began smiling and a low chuckle escaped her lips as she looked around the field.

Men screamed as horse hooves trampled them into the sand; horses whinnied and snorted loudly as they writhed on the ground. Coppery blood filled the air and Raveres could feel it on her tongue and her skin.

Broken spears lay here and there impaled into the ground or embedded deeply into a deceased target.

“This is beautiful…”

She smiled and looked around like she was witnessing a religious moment. Then she heard Sir Jean’s voice and blinked before coming back to her senses.

‘What’s he saying?’

Shaking her head she turned to her side and looked to the approaching Breton knight.

“You’re mad Druchii!” he shook his head and exhaled nervously, “You’ve never fought on horseback before that’s for damn sure!”

Baring her teeth Raveres smiled eerily. The dark blood splattered across her pale features made her appear like a Wight, or a banshee.

“But we’ve won have we not?” she asked sadistically.

Sir Jean looked away from the elf to survey the carnage around them.

A little more than half of Sadalsuud’s men were slain, their horses either remained a few yards away from their fallen masters or they had bolted across the field, back towards the road. Some had dragged their dead riders a few yards before they finally fell out from the stirrups, leaving trenches in the sand and smeared spoors.

Crimson blood stained the sand and there was gore and severed limbs lying amidst fresh corpses and wailing wounded.

The knight tensed as he nodded, “Aye… we won…”

Raveres slid from her saddle and made for one of the bodies she had made.

“What are you doing she-elf?”

Looking over her shoulder Raveres moved a few stray strands of hair from over her eye and responded, “I killed these whelps, I own their corpses and anything they may have on them.”

She laughed involuntarily, “I’ll not let any of these Arabyan cowards at my well-earned spoils!”

Sir Jean tried to hide his discontent but his lips curled in both disgust and disapproval.

Furrowing her brow Raveres tilted her head back as she turned to face the knight.

“What? Is looting against your ways too?”

Sir Jean exhaled uneasily and looked on either side of his mount, “It’s a nasty reality… I don’t like it, but…”

Raveres nodded, “Good, then keep your lack of consent to yourself.”

Narrowing his eyes the knight raised his bloodied sword to point at the Druchii, “Watch your tone elf.”

Turning back to her purpose Raveres stooped to begin searching the body of the man whose arms she had brutally disabled.

Smirking she took hold of a golden amulet from around his neck and ripped it upwards off its cord.

Eyeing the alien talisman with interest she immediately set to weighing it in her hand; judging it and examining the quality of the craftsmanship.

‘Nothing special…’ she remarked, ‘but certainly worth more coin than I have on me right now.’

The man’s broken arms had a few bangles of gold and she pried them away from the bloody stumps, smearing the yellow with the free-flowing, brightly, oxidised blood.

Moving as quick as she could Raveres removed anything she thought would be valuable and a few guardsmen loudly began to followed suit. Some of them laughed as they went about finishing off the wounded enemies while others began to argue over who deserved what.

Some exchanged their weapons for better ones from their dead comrades and others didn’t wait for Sir Jean’s signal to return back to the caravan and instead smacked their horses and set off as fast as was possible; not stopping to loot and instead wanting to run back to the safety of the caravan’s numbers.

After a short while they had to stop and leave, mostly at Sir Jean’s insistence.

…

Raveres rode beside the knight as they left the dead to the carrion and rejoined the trade caravan.

Though the ‘battle’ hadn’t even been that long Raveres was impressed by the amount of ground that the slaves, camels, and all, had been able to cover since they had left.

Sadalsuud’s fear of the Red-Riders must have been great indeed, for he spared no time in putting to flight; many of the tents and unnecessary camp equipment had been left behind, and many of the fires were left burning; their smoke rising into the sky forlornly.

There wasn’t any uniformity to how the returning guardsmen approached the caravan but Sir Jean and Raveres didn’t spare anytime in galloping towards the fore of the train to report to Sadalsuud.

The Arabyan’s face lightened and he relaxed upon his camel mount waving a hearty greeting.

Beside the rotund Sadalsuud was a grim-looking and shirtless muscular man who Raveres assumed must have been the head slave-driver of the caravan. In his right hand he bore a cat o’ nine-tails.

Raveres smirked at the familiar sight of the slave-master’s instrument and gave the man a knowing nod of approval.

The man furrowed his brow in silent confusion and shook his head as he turned to shout orders to his men behind him.

Having been rebuffed Raveres narrowed her brow and pursed her lips, her tongue rolling around like she had tasted something sour.

On Sadalsuud’s left side Jacque was riding his horse, his face awash with relief to see Sir Jean and Raveres’ return.

As soon as they were in ear-shot the humans began speaking and Raveres sat back in her saddle as they rejoined the line, she began wiping the blood from her sword on the tail of her blouse which hang out from the bottom edge of her cuirass.

“They fled did they?” Sadalsuud asked excitedly.

Sir Jean nodded, “Aye, they did.”

“I see fewer of my men returned, how many were their number?”

The knight tensed and closed the distance between his horse and Sadalsuud’s camel, “I regret that we lost so many, but…”

Having cleaning her blade Raveres stowed the weapon through a metal hoop on the side of her cuirass, she hadn’t a scabbard but the improvised clasp would do the job until they got to the city.

Looking behind her Raveres narrowed her eyes over the shimmering sands; small shapes were getting farther away. Those Red-Riders who had survived would surely return and Sadalsuud’s men were not at all up to another engagement.

“Sir Jean, we must hasten.”

Looking away from Sadalsuud the knight nodded and then spoke with the Arabyan. He in turn called to the slave driver and in a few short moments the whole train gained even more speed.

…

The rest of the day passed tensely and when they finally came within sight of the port-city nearly everyone in the caravan breathed a large sigh of relief.

Raveres however tensed and breathed hesitantly.

The city before them was ringed by high walls and round towers. The parapets were streaming with brightly coloured banners and men patrolled them closely. Seated near the centre of the city was a palace-keep. Its rounded domes and towers soared high above the city and dominated the landscape.

Water works had irrigated the surrounding valley in which the city was built and so the sight was like a mythical oasis; palm trees grew here and there, marking the edges of fields, small lengths of shrubs and bushes, orchards, and everything else needed to support the population of the city was busy with activity.

Green was everywhere, and the quality of the road increased the closer that they got to civilisation. The previous packed down dirt and worn-rock was replaced by well-hewn stone, and carefully cut treads for carts.

At first Raveres thought nothing of the city greater than: safety, comforts, and their plan so far. But the closer that they got along the road the more people, activity, and life she began to see, and the more nervous she became.

Looking to either side of their slowed caravan she saw peasants driving mules or corralling sheep and goats, working and speaking amongst one another, but then awkwardly they would pause as soon as they saw her.

She didn’t like it.

Maintaining her pace she felt like she was part of a strange parade and her nervousness only grew the closer they got to one of the city’s gates.

The gate kept growing as they came towards it and the sculpture work of the ornate main entrance caught Raveres’ attention.

Between the two oval shaped towers which constituted the gate-houses, the actual doors and portcullis was covered over by a carved stone lion.

Its teeth were bared and its mouth was opened in a frozen roar.

The whole sight of the city proved to Raveres just how un-worldly she was.

Doing her best to manage her apprehension the Druchii still felt intimidated none-the-less by the sheer size and construction of the city in front of her.

‘This is nothing like home…’ She thought fearfully. Shaking her head she scolded herself as she tried to calm, ‘By the Dark Mother! Steel yourself Raveres!’

A rider began to approach them and the peasantry parted at the sound of his gallop.

Sir Jean pulled on his reins and bid the elf do the same.

“He’s a city representative, he’ll speak with Sadalsuud. We are free to ride ahead though.”

Raveres nodded but her face’s expression betrayed her.

“Stick with Jacque and I.” The knight spoke reassuringly, “We’ve made many a trip through Al Daouk before, and we know it well enough.”

The Druchii nodded before furrowing her brow, “Al Daouk?” she asked.

Sir Jean nodded, “Aye, the city is named after the Emir’s family, and the Emir is Sadalsuud’s brother as you remember.”

Raveres had forgotten, but nodded along and responded quietly,

“Of course…”

‘Gods below, so that palace is his home?!” she thought, “This place is triple the size of Blacklight Tower!’

Sir Jean interrupted Sadalsuud and his guard’s conversation and the noble Arabyan nodded and waved a fair-well.

He smiled keenly when Raveres met his gaze and she nodded politely as Sir Jean led the three of them towards the open gates of the busy port-city.

The streets were bustling with activity, and Raveres kept her steed as close as permissible to Sir Jean’s. The peasantry parted for the knight and she earned a variety of looks; from fearful and confused, to interested and amused.

“We shall ride through the town to our Duke’s embassy and there Jacque and I will deposit our cargo and complete our mission…”

Raveres looked to the knight for a brief moment as she tugged on her reins, “Yes?”

“Then we’ll… Well, we’ll just see how things go from there.”

The elf nodded and looked ahead down the busy street. On either side of the three riders Raveres saw peasants going about their lives, urchins begging on corners, slaves carrying loads to and fro. It reminded her of home, but there was where the similarities ended.

It was warm, and it smelled.

There were the ‘usual’ city smells of dirt, garbage, and filth… But there was something new which overpowered the bad scents.

Cooking and spice.

The scent of oriental foods wafted through the streets and alleys as vendors and street-side cooks plied their trade, spice sellers were loudly chanting and showing off their wares, running their hands through bags of product and letting it spill from their fingers sent powerful smells into the air and Raveres’ sensitive elven nose was under a total assault of pleasures.

She smelt hints of things which were familiar and immediately took her home, and then in another breath she’d get a whiff of something which were totally alien but utterly enticing, some of the scents were sharp while others were mild; and each was making her dry mouth water.

As they trod farther down the road they came through the town square and the small city of stalls and merchants -the Al Daouk bazaar- Closely to her side she heard the sizzling and chorus of revelry at the cooking of a choice suckling beast.

The sight of the cooking meat struck her horribly and her stomach eagerly let out a demand for reprieve as she saw the large rotund female chef begin cutting slices of meat from the flank of the beast and serving it immediately to her customers.

The patrons threw a few coins towards the chef’s apprentice and the younger woman caught them and immediately calculated the necessary change.

The speed, the artistic display, the wonderful scene around her was compelling Raveres forwards and she reached towards a pouch she’d looted and tied to her belt.

In addition to the gold jewelry she’d ‘liberated’ from her dead opponents she’d also collected several purses of coin. The money was quickly burning a hole in her pockets and she wanted nothing more than to spend it.

Thankfully Sir Jean called Raveres’ name and shook his head, “No, not now. I swear to you after our mission is completed I shall escort you through this place. But we cannot stop now my lady.”

Raveres looked to her side and saw a few furrowed Arabyan brows and the concerned gazes of some shop keepers and then the cultural divide returned and reminded her; she was not welcome.

“Right… Very well knight, I differ to your…” she paused and regained herself, “To your expertise.”

Regretfully she continued alongside the two Bretons, turning and riding down the streets, until finally they reached a building completely unlike any in the whole city.

It was made of imported timbers and between the wooden beams holding it up white wattle and daub constituted its second storey while the first floor was reinforced wood and brick. It was a guard’s block-house of some kind and posted on either side of its broad doors were two armoured knights.

They were neglecting the visors on their helmets but they were otherwise combat ready, eyeing every passing civilian with disdain.

The path of the street’s traffic in front of this large building bowed out and around the knights.

It appeared that these men commanded terrifying respect among the Arabyan populace.

Sir Jean waved to the dismounted knights and one immediately called into the door’s iron-grated peephole.

The door unlatched and a mustached man with flowing brown hair quickly exited the building. He smiled at Sir Jean and waved while loudly calling in their tongue as they approached.

Raveres held back a cringe of disgust as she mentally complained, ‘Dark Mother, help me… Yet more Bretonnians…’

…

When Mariana returned aboard Annio’s ship the captain was passed out in the crow’s nest of the ship’s aft mast.

Before he fell asleep from a rum-soaked drinking binge he was entertaining himself by firing pistols at flying seagulls and had indicated to his men that none were to disturb him.

Stepping onto the main deck the Estalian witch curled her lip quizzically as she spoke.

“Where’s the captain?” Mariana asked the first mate.

The massive man was short but broad. His shoulders and neck were thick and his small shirt couldn’t be buttoned up properly, and so it hung open, showing off his scars, thick chest hair, and a charmed necklace bearing the hammer of Sigmar.

“What’s it to you little lady?” he responded coldly.

Pointing behind her to the shouting and noisy brawls in the town’s streets she raised her eyebrows and spoke,

“They’re tearing each other apart in there!” her voice dropped comically, “More than usual… But I barely escaped with my life! We need to put to sea _now_.”

The mate raised an eyebrow and chuckled before looking to a few of the men who remained aboard the vessel as the skeleton crew.

“Oh? That’s so?”

Mariana furrowed her brow and took his patronising tone in stride.

“I have a feeling that the tides are to change and if we want to beat the rush out of the port we ought to make ready now.”

The mate stopped chuckling and became somewhat serious.

“How do you know this?”

Mariana thought very carefully about how to proceed, she didn’t want to be branded a witch, nor was she sure that Slaanesh’s favour was going to arrive in the form of waters or winds changing… but she had to roll with it now.

“A few of those I had spoken with revealed to me as much.”

The mate leaned his head back incredulously.

Mariana took a step forwards and lowered her voice, “I swear it… Let me speak with the captain.”

He shook his head, but his tone and body language suggested that he wasn’t sure.

“The captain’s not about to change anything or plot a course today milady, just… Sit yourself in the great-cabin and wait.”

He nodded and then turned away from Mariana while walking towards the quarter-deck.

She huffed and stomped loudly towards the narrow stairs to the lower deck.

“Prince’s blood…” she whispered in a curse under her breath. “This better all work, I swear I’m sick of biding my time…”

Once the woman passenger was out of sight the first mate began the climb to the aft crow’s nest.

“Captain?” he called hesitantly.

Dazed Annio stirred and took up one of his several pistols, responding to the question with a shot into the air.

“Aye?!” he then loudly responded.

The first mate exclaimed in surprise, “Gods! What in the blue hell Annio?”

The Estalian captain looked at the former imperial and furrowed his brow in confusion, “What? I was merely aiming for a ‘gull. Damnable rats of the sky I tell you…”

The mate adjusted his grip on the mast’s railings and nodded sarcastically, “Right… Sir, about our course…”

The captain perked up and nodded, “oh yes?”

“Well it’s just, the men… and myself included… We were hoping to put to sea soon and reach Estalia within the week.”

The captain smiled and dropped his empty pistol before reaching for a bottle.

“Aye… I bet that little bitch’s been in your ears no doubt.” He slurred.

The mate furrowed his brow in confusion, “Sir?”

The captain looked at the empty bottle disappointedly and threw it over the side of the crow’s nest into the sea.

He leaned closer to his mate and whispered, “I have a bad air about that one…”

The mate nodded.

“You see…” the captain rose somewhat to look over the edge of the wooden railing for any sight of the dark dress of Mariana.

“Her story doesn’t seem to add up… and I’ve been thinking on it this whole time…”

The mate furrowed his brow as his captain seemed to sober up and become deathly serious.

“There’s something off about my fellow Estalian…”

Stumbling to his feet the captain hung onto some of the stowed rigging for support and nodded furiously, “She’s not right… I mean. A prisoner of the Druchii? For as long as she said she was?”

He shook his head, “Nah, I don’t buy it anymore.”

He took a deep breath and gazed over the horizon before violently turning back towards the mate.

“That! And her insistence to leave? To go to Estalia, but not naming a port by…-by name?” he grunted and cleared his throat.

“Something strange at work let me tell you… And I’ve noticed a few things too.”

The mate adjusted his grip again and drew a deep breath of his own.

“What has Farenso been doing with her? Or Ba’duli, or or… gah” the captain waved in frustration.

“She’s plying something on the weaker, greener members of _my_ crew.”

He nodded and stretched his arms, “Something’s not right…”

The mate lowered his voice, “What if we left her ashore and put to sea?”

The captain looked towards the mate and narrowed his eyes.

“Perhaps…”

He coughed again and nodded, “Perhaps.”

As he remembered something else the captain had a secret smile to himself.

“You know that elf? The woman one… I had her thrown into the sea?”

The mate furrowed his brow and thought for a moment.

“Uh…”

The captain smiled and looked away from his fellow sailor.

“Raveres de Naguii…”

The mate shook his head, “We fought many elves that day… I dare say I can’t remember even one of them.”

The captain ignored the comment and continued,

“You know, I regret throwing her to the waters… she was a beauty to be sure…”

The mate rolled his eyes and nodded, “Aye most women are… But sir what are we to do about the-“

Before he could finish the captain loudly and enthusiastically interrupted.

“We shall set a course!”

The mate’s eyes widened, “Wait… what?!”

The captain smiled and scratched his bearded chin, “Aye! Summon the men, I’ve got a plan!”

“Sir?” The mate cried, confused.

…

Elianna’s eyes were wide and she was struggling to remain calm as she stood behind her mistress Lady Naguii.

The two women were wearing thick black cloaks and standing at the edge of a large stone chamber deep within the temple of Khaine in Blacklight Tower. In front of them the bride-priestesses -the Death Hags- were performing a dark rite, at both Lady Naguii’s insistence and patronage.

She’d paid the necessary temple fee and bought several captives from the slave market in nearby Karond Kar. At Elianna’s suggestion Lady Naguii ensured to specify ‘Arabyans’ in her order.

She was apprehensive as to whether or not the human clutch she’d purchased were in fact Arabyans to begin with as neither she nor Elianna had ever seen one in the flesh the captain of the Naguii household guard personally delivered Lady Naguii’s correspondence to her slaver contact in Karond Kar and when the captain finally arrived back with the ten Arabyan men, he avowed that they were the quarry she sought.

He boasted that he had threatened the slave-trader with castration until the man swore that the humans were the ones Lady Naguii desired.

In the time since her bath the more Lady Naguii thought about Elianna’s words the more she thought about the potential dangers that Raveres may be facing. From these the desire to ensure a proper offering grew.

She had originally wanted to buy twenty fighting-fit and young Arabyan men, but Elianna suggested fewer would still ensure the desired effect.

Considering the total cost of the odd request Lady Naguii eventually agreed.

The slaves were rowdy still, yet it didn’t take long before Lady Naguii’s men broke the last of their will.

Now they meekly followed the directions of the Naguii Captain as he followed behind the Lady and her maid-slave to the great doors of the temple.

They greeted the few Death Hags standing outside the stone building awaiting them and then the small procession was led into the sordid and dark depths of the black stone building.

Lady Naguii and Elianna were provided with simple black cloaks with which to cover themselves while they watched the private ceremony.

The practised and veteran Death Hags then took over the corralling and directing of the slaves from the Naguii men and they were ordered to remain outside the holy precinct of the dark temple.

As Lady Naguii and Elianna followed their hosts into the black halls they were led along towards a great vaulted chamber.

“My lady…” the principal Death Hag spoke, “I bid you please remain silent while we go at our work.” Lady Naguii nodded once and the Hag continued, “When I raise my hands like this you may step forwards towards the dais and we will mark you with Khaine’s sigil.”

Lady Naguii nodded again before stepping towards a spot out of the way of the working Brides.

With an evil toothy smile the Death Hag bowed her head lowly and turned from the noble to regard her fresh prey.

Elianna’s heartbeat was so loud it thundered in her skull; she was terrified.

The air was choked with smoke and a rotten coppery taste. The ground was a dark stone, but its surface was uneven and pockmarked with strange abrasions.

Earlier Elianna had stolen a glance downwards as they passed a brazier and saw that the floor was a putrid carmine colour, and that the ‘pockmarks’ and uneven aspects of the stone was really years’ worth and layers upon layers of gore and dried blood.

Small pieces of ivory glittered up at her either through cracks in the stone or through the layers of dried, flakey, blood.

Chips of bone… fragments of skull… pieces of broken teeth…

From this realisation Elianna became so terrified she was clinging to her mistress, never more afraid for her life than in this moment.

Mentally she swore she’d never say or do anything that would lead her to being brought to this insidious abattoir again.

…

The first offerings had been bound together and seated on the raised altar in the centre of the chamber.

The chanting then started and then the slaves began wailing. Like chattel which had seen the knife coming they knew what was going to happen, and where they were.

The Death Hags began howling as they entered into their dances and their collective trance.

The smoke of incense and burned offerings, paid for by Lady Naguii, permeated the air…

The music of the drums added to the ambiance and Elianna felt her fingers grow cold and her body eerily still. Her elvish senses told her two things: that both primordial evil and black magic were in the air.

Looking beside her Elianna saw that her mistress was unfazed and it made her even more uneasy.

The stern and sharp features of the midnight-haired Druchii were without any adornments; before they set out that morning Lady Naguii had Elianna remove all her jewelry.

In addition she untied her long hair so that it fell down her shoulders almost to her calves; if she was to be present she had to bare herself as simply as possible before the holy site.

...

When the ceremony began in the temple chambers the Brides chanted and danced intricately, weaving their blades through the air and each other’s movements.

The five slaves which were bound together in the center of the room sat entranced, their previous fearful cries and protestations having numbed to an eerie calm.

The Death Hags were smiling at their prey and had been weaving a foul magic over their weakened minds.

They weren’t gagged, they needn’t be; their placation had been assured by the spell which was marked upon them as soon as they were forced upon the dais.

The ritual drums began quickening in their beat and then the five Death Hags which had been circling and erotically dancing with each other set towards the centre of the room with their knives held high.

At first the slaves appeared smiling as the five others watched on in horror stifling their own screams and weakly trying against their bonds.

Then the noise of the music and the chanting stopped.

And the spell was broken…

And the screaming began.

The five slaves on the dais immediately realised what was to come and Elianna shook violently as she looked away and covered her mouth.

Lady Naguii stood silently, her face expressionless and stony as she watched the ritual.

The other slaves began a chorus of suffering and screaming, fighting harder than ever before to try and escape.

But their captors smiled, this was nothing they hadn’t seen before; and none were going to miss their turn to the knife.

Elianna faltered in her standing and she did something which she never thought she’d do.

She stepped forwards and hid her face in the back of her mistress’ cloak.

More surprising was that Lady Naguii said nothing, and did nothing except for moving her left hand to Elianna’s side.

The small motion not only condoned the high-elf’s action, but encouraged her to remain pressed against her owner’s back.

Elianna’s fear was so maddeningly great that she mentally regressed to that of a child.

In a perverse way, though she knew she was a slave, she had always subconsciously thought of Lady Naguii as not only her complete master, but also as her mother.

And as the blood-curdling screaming grew ever louder Elianna bit her tongue to continue to remain silent, burying her face into Lady Naguii’s back and continuing to shake in total, abject fear.

The Death Hags cackled and incanted words and phrases of the dark speech as they gored and brutally eviscerated the offerings. The slaughter continued, and with every blow struck a man screamed and gurgled noises which caused the slave against the Druchii noble’s back to shudder and quietly whimper in fear.

The chorus of screaming humans began getting weaker as each member was finished off, their dying breaths climbing to awful crescendos before finally becoming silent.

Then the next slaves were brought forwards and the Death Hags set upon them in much the same fashion as the first five.

The cutting and the slashing, the loud wet striking of metal through flesh, it made Elianna cry as she cowered behind her mistress.

Then the room grew quiet except for the crackling of the braziers and the elated and excited breathing of the Death Hags.

The screaming in the halls had been so loud that for a few seconds after it stopped Elianna imagined she could still hear it as it echoed through the very stone of the chambers.

Then the low silence was broken by the sound of motion; the lead Hag looked to Lady Naguii and waved the signal.

Without hesitation Elianna’s owner stepped forwards.

The High-elf nervously clutched her mistress’ cloak but her grip was so light and meek that the material easily slipped from her fingers the farther that Lady Naguii walked.

Eventually the high-elf was forced to open her eyes when her mistress passed out of her reach and when she witnessed the full sight before her Elianna felt heart stop.

Immediately the elf slave collapsed backwards, unconscious, from fright.

The Death Hags each were naked, having shed their thin clothes over the course of the ritual, but by now they had become painted in their victim’s blood.

Sigils and symbols had been lovingly smeared by each sister upon one another and the light of the braziers reflected off their blood-drenched blades and smeared bodies.

…

Lady Naguii heard Elianna stumble and fall behind her, the elf’s body and head loudly cracked against the hard and blood-slick floor, but she remained silent and devoid of reaction.

She had only done such a ritual once before, and she knew that she must remain as still as if she were facing her Drachau, or the even the Witch King himself.

For she was about to beseech an even greater power still:

Khaine’s aspect…

Standing before the small raised step of the chamber’s dais Lady Naguii halted and bowed her head in respect.

The lead Death Hag raised her blade and pointed it accusatorily at her.

“Why hath you dared to step before Khaine’s chosen brides?”

Lady Naguii remained silent and averted her eyes, staring towards the floor at the flowing pond of blood which was quickly pouring from the dais.

The Death Hags cackled amongst one another.

“Thou art a fool! A miniscule servant before the dread majesty of our lord…”

The noble finally looked up and her eyes met with the principal Death Hag’s.

“Sisters in murder… Bare her boldly!”

Driving her blade into a twitching body amidst the pile in front of her the Death Hag spat and hissed loudly as she took a deep breath.

“Show her skin so that we may flay her resolve and make incision for her!”

On either side of Lady Naguii two Death Hags approached her.

With a growl and a loud scream the lead Hag issued an order to the noble, “On your knees!”

Silently Lady Naguii lowered herself, feeling the warm blood soak her skin along her legs through her clothes.

The Hags on her sides brought forward their knives and took hold of her clothing.

Cutting through the material and ripping away her cloak and the top of her plain dress Lady Naguii was eventually made naked above her waist.

Her flesh rippled to the air and her skin became covered in goosebumps, her nipples hardened, and her cheeks burned with a strange embarrassment to be seen in such a state by so many unfamiliar eyes.

But she remained quiet, her breathing remained calm, and she kept her head and sight level.

Stepping over the mound of bodies the principal Death Hag walked towards Lady Naguii and stopped before her.

Without a word two Hags took hold of her arms and held them outstretched.

A third came from behind and pulled Lady Naguii’s head backwards until she was staring at the ceiling, her neck exposed and vulnerable.

“Are you a faithful servant to our dark lord?”

The principal Hag held her blade high above Lady Naguii’s chest; it was aimed for her breast and heart.

The Hag bellowed loudly and deeply, “Answer him!”

Without hesitation and full with resolve Lady Naguii spoke confidently; “I am!”

“So, by what dare impudence has driven you to seek our audience?”

With a snarl Lady Naguii screamed her response, her words echoing into the chamber.

“I bring the gifts of blood, and ask only what every Druchii is ought!”

The Hag laughed loudly, “You are ‘ought’ nothing! You are naught to enjoy even the ravenous feasting of the maggots upon your eyes! What do you _dare_ to demand of the dark lord?!”

With venom in her tongue Lady Naguii spat her rehearsed prayer.

“Vengeance! An endless bath of blood! Glory and victory!”

The Hag moved her blade down to her side and lowered herself to Lady Naguii’s level.

“And what was this? What were these for?”

The hag pointed behind her at the bodies and Lady Naguii’s head was let loose to move again. She looked over the mangled and brutally slaughtered men and nodded.

“These are kinsmen of my beloved’s foes… I seek a curse upon the people who would dare to seek harm upon her and my house.”

The Hag nodded and stood back up.

Waving two additional Hags forwards she then pointed at the men and they set to dipping their swords into the human blood.

Then they moved towards Lady Naguii and began drawing the blood coated tips of their weapons against her chest and skin.

Painting the same sigils and symbols which adorned their own flesh they purposefully pressed the sharp tips of their steel hard enough to draw her Druchii blood.

The principal Hag closed her eyes and was uttering an indiscernible chant in a whisper as she began shaking and pacing the whole dais in a circle.

The small cuts in her skin began to burn and Lady Naguii felt the sharp nails of the Hags holding her arms begin to dig into her flesh.

Their grip continued to deepen and she gritted her teeth as the burning in her flesh began to climb in intensity.

Their long, jagged, and gruesome nails began to break through her skin and Lady Naguii snarled under her imprisonment.

The principal Hag threw her head back and extended her arms as euphoria and a possessive trance overtook her.

“Open your mouth and present thy lying tongue…”

Dropping her blade the principal hag held out her open palm.

Lady Naguii seethed and cringed at the fire which was growing in her flesh and the razor sharp nails which had cut into her skin but she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue wordlessly, as she was bid.

An attendant Hag presented a thin needle like weapon to the lead bride and as soon as she felt the steel in her hand she stepped forwards.

The tip of the needle-like blade was dripping with a purple liquid and the lead Hag quickly extended her arm and brought it towards Lady Naguii’s exposed and wiggling tongue.

Expecting it to be driven through her Lady Naguii mentally prepared for the piercing; but just as it approached the Hag stopped and simply tapped the dripping metal to her tongue.

As soon as it made contact there was a second of reprieve where Lady Naguii felt nothing.

Then the Hags which were holding her let go and stepped away from her, their hands having left bruises and several deep divots in her pale skin.

Then the revulsion came.

Bile rose from her stomach and without control Lady Naguii vomited it forwards; it was black and odorless and the burning in her skin returned a thousand fold.

The Hags nervously looked at one another and the principal Hag stepped back from Lady Naguii cackling and throwing her arms up excitedly.

“Yes!” she shouted.

Tears involuntarily streamed down Lady Naguii’s face as blood began to flow from her nose.

Black bile clung to her chin and her skin felt like it was loosening from her bones as she swayed from a sudden and encompassing malaise.

“Yes!” the Hag screamed again. Her eyes were wide and she had taken up her blade once more, ritualistically cutting her palm as she screamed in delight.

Blood began to ooze from Lady Naguii’s pores and her eyes thundered as her body became wracked with unimaginable pain.

She looked at her hands in horror as no sound escaped from her throat.

Blood vessels burst under her skin and began flowing freely to the surface and she regarded her chest in complete terror; her nipples had become engorged and blood dripped freely from them in a sordid perversion of her sex.

Her eyes looked to the principal Hag and wordlessly the Hag understood that an explanation was due.

“Our lord…” she shook madly with excitement, “You have been _blessed!_ ”

Lady Naguii began to see swirling smoke around the floor of the chamber as her body continued to burn internally.

Then a voice came from another plane and boomed into her mind, shattering any sense of thought as it invaded every aspect of her being.

It was like metal and blackness at once given sound. At the first syllable of the voice blood dribbled from Lady Naguii’s ears and nose eventually became a free flowing torrent as the world around her changed.

Through the excruciating pain questions rolled around her head innocently. And the voice chuckled hollowly.

“No little Druchii… I am not Khaine himself. Think of me as his… _messenger._ Were the dark lord to speak to you this way… well.”

The voice chuckled again, “I dare say you wouldn’t handle it as well as this.”

The pain lessened and Lady Naguii began to see a vision around her; the chamber disappeared and instead she saw rolling sands as far as the world extended. Then she saw a figure, clad head to toe in black Druchii armour. Their face was obstructed by a full visor helm. For arms they bore a simple black and gold sword.

The Druchii was in mid combat with invisible foes; frozen with their weapon held aloft and body contorted in mid-motion.

“You have many questions… and many concerns… I know them now.” The voice paused and it’s tone rose in disappointment, “They are mainly trivial… So much so that I would never have appeared for this…”

“But…”

The vision changed and Lady Naguii immediately saw a Druchii she recognised as Raveres.

Her daughter was in some kind of underground sandstone chamber, she was wearing the same armour as the figure before, though this time she was helm-less and her face was marred with blood and dirt.

In the vision she knew that the armour had become dented and damaged from blades and the teeth of beasts. It appeared almost ruined, yet still functional.

“There is one which I felt was above the others…”

The voice chuckled again, “Though the revelation of which may just drive you mad. But I avow it has given me nothing but entertainment…”

The vision showed great red eyes appear ahead of Raveres.

They glowed like two massive flames but remained wreathed in darkness.

“She lives… oh yes.”

A relief flooded the back of her mind, and despite everything else Lady Naguii felt a joyous flash of pleasure.

“And she has been chosen… indeed she has been _claimed_ … A daughter of yours no more, she is now _ours…_ ”

Lady Naguii twitched and gargled her words amidst blood and bile which flowed past her teeth and lips and struggled to speak; “S-she’s… a champion of K-Khaine?”

“No no… Nothing so grand… Simply…”

The voice stopped and muttered incomprehensible speech to itself, “A pet.”

Lady Naguii’s vision began to fade and her body began to numb.

“Yes… Fear naught. A pet she now is, and a pet she shall be… _Ours_.”

Lady Naguii felt her eyes roll back into her head as all sense of time, physicality, and space evapourated.

“Oh, and I’ll have you know; the offering’s howling was particularly satisfying…”

The voice began a deep cackle which began to fade along with Lady Naguii’s consciousness.

The ritual was a far greater success than the noble lady had bargained for.

…

Author’s announcement:

Hello Boils and Ghouls,

I apologise for the shortness of this chapter but I have several papers and ‘end-of-semester’ work to attend to; coupled with work and life obligations I’ve been rather stretched thin as of late.

However this is not my blog (nor do you really care which is okay lol) so I’m not about to bore you with superfluous details, but I did think it would be courteous to let you all know that I will be taking a bit of a break from writing for a while until the semester is officially over.

I’ll be off for about two weeks and I should hope to be back to writing at the end of April.

The next chapter, chapter ten, is going to be a big one; I’m shooting (hoping) for ten thousand, one hundred and ten words because that’d be cool, as well as it is a well-known fact that repeating integers are magic.

Thank you all so very much for your support, comments, and attention… It means the world to me.

Now in addition to this tale I will (ideally) be working on (and finishing) several of my other works in the coming weeks and months. And ideally I will get back to weekly updates.

So until next time, as in the words of the great SsethTzeentach: “…you’re all truly wonderful, have a good one”.

-VV


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadalsuud returns to a precarious home, Raveres experiences Bretonnian hospitality, and Lady Naguii recovers from her ‘experience’. Brief Author’s Note afterword.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Ten

“You are early returned brother?”

The Emir Hashan Al Daouk sat atop a pillowed throne in the centre of the palace’s high ceilinged audience chamber. He was the eldest brother of Sadalsuud, and the leadership of the Al Daouk family had by right fallen to him.

Though he had been struck with an affliction and grew ill shortly after ascending to his father’s title.

Now he rarely left the palace or his solar and left most matters of the city and the Al Daouk demesne to his brothers and his Vizier.

Sadalsuud had been away for only a few months yet in that time his brother had grown weaker and sicklier. And now the Emir was so sick he barely recognised him at first.

The throne was less of a chair and more of a couch; it was wide enough to lounge on, but the Emir was not alone on his seat.

On both sides of the weakened and diminished man sat two disinterested women of his harem; they were wearing identical outfits of thin see through Arabyca-cotton; one was coloured turquoise and the other was draped in light rose.

The turquoise woman had leaned back in the throne and fallen asleep with her head nestled in the crook of the throne’s arm, while the rose wearing one was currently adjusting the see-through veil which fell across her mouth.

Both women were quite beautiful, but Sadalsuud had no idea who they were; they didn’t look familiar to him. The turquoise one had short black hair cut jaggedly at chin height, while the one in rose had long locks of auburn which fell over her bare shoulders down to her belly. The uniform colour of her hair was broken by an asymmetrical streak of blonde on the right side of her head.

Standing beside the throne and appearing just as weary as the two women was Hashan’s Grand Vizier, a long bearded and ancient man. Sadalsuud met eyes with him and shared a nod of awkward acknowledgement.

After bowing upon entering the room Sadalsuud raised a brow and began gesticulating with his hands as he approached the raised throne’s steps, raising his voice to stir his otherwise oblivious elder brother.

“I’m sure it has felt like only a short time! But my beloved brother I am returned to you after a long while of sailing the great sand-sea! I have seen many things, and have secured many beautiful…”

The Emir raised a small gaunt hand and Sadalsuud silenced.

“Please brother, the hall is too loud…”

Sadalsuud nodded and lowered his voice somewhat, but as he began to continue his brother looked away from him towards one of the windows carved into the base of the room’s great domed ceiling.

Sadalsuud stopped mid word and his brother continued to stare out the small arched window.

The rose dressed member of his harem looked up from her fingernails and placed a hand on her ‘husbands’ thin arm.

He looked away from the blue window and towards his concubine confused.

She whispered quietly in his ear and Sadalsuud looked on in concern. After she finished Hashan looked back down at his brother and cleared his throat, his pitch and voice changing oddly several times as he spoke.

“Oh! Yes, yes… well done my… my great brother. I… Vizier Wick’tus will see to everything else…”

Sadalsuud bowed his head as his brother slowly rose from the throne but he couldn’t feel anything but shock at his behaviour.

The two women sat up from the throne as well and watched as Hashan waved them away from his sides and descend the throne’s dais alone. Shuffling languidly towards one of the doors on the side of the audience chamber the Emir coughed an order to the attending door guards and one man opened the portal while the other took up the Emir’s arm and helped him to walk through the doorway.

Once the door locked loudly behind his brother Sadalsuud looked up at the Grand Vizier.

“Everyone out!” the merchant prince shouted.

The Vizier nodded knowingly and began descending the steps from the side of the throne as the guards in the room departed and the two women slunk away from the throne.

“Out, out!” the elderly man repeated.

A pair of eunuchs from behind the dais escorted the women back to the safety and seclusion of the palace’s harem chambers while the door guards at each entrance turned from their posts and stepped through their doors.

In a hush the Vizier’s voice came out as he came closer to Sadalsuud and the bottom of the throne’s steps, “It is good of you to have returned so soon my lord.”

Waiting tensely as the footfalls exited the room Sadalsuud stepped towards the Vizier and began speaking as soon as he felt comfortable. “What foulness has afflicted my brother?!”

“It is the same sickness that was present before you left my lord.”

Sadalsuud shook his head, “He looks like he’s aged a thousand days since I last saw him!”

Wick’tus nodded, “My scholars and healers have been pouring over their scrolls and I have sent letters to apothecaries far and wide… None have heard of his condition.”

Sadalsuud’s features hardened and he drew a painful breath.

“All of them seem to agree though… It must be dark magic.”

Sadalsuud shook his head and waved his hand upwards.

“Please! You and I are far too educated to believe in such superstitions, poisons? Sure. Parlour tricks? Sure. But genuine bewitchment?”

He shook his head again.

“Who would even wish to harm my brother in this sordid way? We are at peace! Father saw to that…”

The Vizier stroked his thin bony fingers through his long wild beard and nodded along.

“It’s not so much a superstition my lord… Some foulness has definitely taken your brother hostage…”

The elder’s voice faltered and he cleared his raspy throat, “In any case our Emir’s state is most distressing… I must avow he’s delegated far more to me in these last weeks.”

Sadalsuud raised an eyebrow, “Something I’m sure you don’t mind?”

The Vizier shook his head, “I served your father till the end, and I helped Hashan during his ascension, but my dear Sadalsuud… I am tired…”

The elder man coughed and waved Sadalsuud to follow him.

“I am finished with politics… The court… all this state business…”

The two men began down a hall from the throne room towards the Vizier’s chamber and quarters.

“So, on the contrary my young Sadalsuud… I am finished with this position.”

The merchant prince furrowed his brow, “Why continue then? Why hang on?”

The two walked through the open doorway of the Vizier’s chamber and set towards more intimate seating accommodations.

“I was set to resign shortly after you left on your trading mission. But then Hashan’s illness became worse still.”

As they entered into the plush and curtained quarters of the Vizier they made their way towards pillowed reclining couches. As the Vizier waved encouragement Sadalsuud sat and narrowed his eyes.

The Vizier paused, “He was always sickly… I… I mean, the responsibilities have always weighed heavily on your pious brother, and He’s always strived to fulfill the duties ascribed to him by your noble father but…”

Sadalsuud waved him on, “Please, enough. Speak your mind.”

The Vizier tensed as he slowly sat down. He nodded as he collected his thoughts, “Today was a better day for your brother.”

“How do you mean?”

The Vizier smiled painfully, “I mean… after you left he couldn’t recall the date. He began ranting and raving.”

Sadalsuud leaned forwards from his seat.

“He demanded all the servants of the court be executed and then he drew a blade and cut down the first man to speak against it. I calmed him down, but then he forgot completely what he had done.”

“On some days he’s as innocent and absent minded as a child; pleasant and eager to speak.”

“On others he’s wrathful and full of a rage I’ve never seen in him before, then…”

The elderly man paused and brought a hand wearily to his mouth.

“Some days he’s even worse.”

Sadalsuud sat back in silence. ‘How could he be _worse_?’ he wondered.

A light wind came through the chamber from a large balcony to their side as the men began a conversation with one another through their eyes.

Eventually they both exhaled large sighs. The Vizier nodded and then pointed towards a slave standing against the wall.

“Would you like some tea my lord? I’m sure you are wearied from travel…”

Sadalsuud nodded and began unclipping his belt and scabbard. “That would be welcome…”

…

“My lady…”

Lady Naguii’s eyes refused to open and all she saw was a deep blackness, but her hearing was slowly returning to her.

Her head screamed with echoes and there was a persistent ringing as if she’d been concussed, but she recognised the voice and tried to follow it.

She was hazy and things were so cloudy in her mind but she somehow knew that the voice would be leading her back to the land of the living.

“My Lady Naguii?”

She tried to move but her arms felt like they had been flayed and then resewn on.

“Please… My lady, show me some sign that you live! My lady!”

Starting lowly the noble she-elf began a groan from her mouth.

It was deep and guttural and rose in volume.

“My- My Lady! Oh gods be good! You live, you live!”

The groan stopped and she coughed dryly, trying to clear her airway.

“She lives my lord!”

There was the sound of movement and Lady Naguii tried to move or take a full breath but her body still felt the iron grip of the demon from the ritual.

Her skin felt hot, and her teeth felt like they were coming free from her jaws.

But her eyes refused to open.

Her senses were beginning to return and the ringing in her mind was beginning to dissipate. Sounds were becoming clearer.

“She lives?” a male voice asked.

It was familiar but just like the female voice Lady Naguii couldn’t place it yet.

“Aye my lord… she lives…”

A cool cloth touched her forehead and she tried to make a sound at the sudden and shocking feeling against her flesh.

“My lady? Can you hear me?”

Weakly she tried to move her head but her body refused. Her muscles felt as if they had atrophied and nothing responded to any motion.

She tried to cough again but nothing happened.

Then a wearied panic began to set in; she had been trapped in her own body.

“What’s wrong with her eyes?” the man’s voice asked.

A third person responded, “She saw the infinite… She saw things that she was not _trained_ to see… heard things not meant to be heard… I did warn her about the possibilities of the ritual…”

Lady Naguii tried to move again but her muscles rebuffed her.

‘Ritual…’ she thought, ‘what ritual? Who is this person? I know the others, but.’ Her thoughts trailed off and were then soundly interrupted by the loud and agitated voice of the man.

“And yet you let her do it anyway?!”

The third voice hissed, “She paid! She demanded it! Khaine has blessed you! You should be grateful.”

‘Khaine? A ritual? What happened? Is that why I am like this?!’ Lady Naguii began thinking.

The man snarled, “I will be grateful when my wife lives you insolent witch.”

‘Wife? Oh Titos! My husband…? Right! Gods… what has happened?!’

There was commotion and loud grunting as Lady Naguii’s senses began to dampen and leave her again.

…

Elianna the slave had been at her mistress’ side since regaining consciousness in the depths of the temple of Khaine. And that was a sight she was not about to forget any time soon.

The noise was the first thing she heard…

Rolling around the gore drenched floor the high elf slave first reached a hand to the back of her head; her blood had soaked through her blonde hair from a split gash along the back of her scalp.

Then she remembered where she was and looked in front of her.

The noise echoing loudly in the chamber was the ululating and scream-chanting of the Death Hags.

They circled Lady Naguii who was floating above the pile of slave corpses, held aloft by a purple and black cloud of smoke.

Then the smoke dissipated and the hags helped lower Lady Naguii’s naked body to the floor.

From where she was Elianna saw that her mistress’ pale skin was drenched, absolutely soaked, in blood.

But from her mouth, like shed drank from a cup filled with ink was the remnants of black bile.

Elianna was so scared of the death hags, so terrified of what she’d already seen, what she was currently seeing that she didn’t move and she didn’t make a sound.

As the ritual finished the Death Hags began chatting and laughing amongst one another, regarding the motionless body of their ‘customer’.

“Is she dead?” one Hag asked.

Another Hag laughed, “If she is then I get her sweet-meat slave!”

The Hag turned to see Elianna awake and laughed, “Oh? You live cousin?”

Elianna began shaking and hyperventilating as she struggled to stand.

“I-if my la-lady has died it is o-on your-“

The lead Death Hag was lowered closely over Lady Naguii and held up a hand, “Silence. She lives.”

Elianna felt relief rush down her body.

Snapping her fingers the lead hag pointed past Elianna down towards the entrance hall. “Bring in her guardsmen… They will need to carry her home.”

Two blood smeared Death Hags nodded and left the chamber down the hall, whispering to one another and madly giggling.

Elianna looked at the remaining Death Hags hesitantly and fearfully. Eventually her eyes landed on the lead Hag who waved her forwards with a soft voice.

“Come hither cousin, your mistress; she needs you.”

Despite her fear the she-elf felt compelled to move by the order, and Elianna took a few careful steps forwards.

Walking towards the centre of the horrifying abattoir of a room the Death Hag pointed down with her open palm at the unconscious and motionless Lady Naguii.

“Listen to me slave; she will need your constant company. Though you were unconscious through the majority of the ceremony you still caught a glimpse of him… You are connected to your mistress, understand? Until she is recovered you must remain with her.”

Elianna fearfully nodded as she looked down at her mistress’ blood covered and nude body.

“I…is s-she… I mean…”

“She is alive, now silence. You will need to care for her-“

“Will she awake?!” Elianna, possessed by an alien burst of courage interrupted the Hag.

The Hag nodded but raised a lip in barely contained anger.

“Interrupt me again and you will not…”

Elianna bit her tongue and remained quiet as her bottom lip quivered and tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

Behind her she heard the quick sound of boots on stone and the scraping of metal armour. ‘Back up!’ she thought excitedly.

“My lady!” the two Naguii guardsmen exclaimed in unison.

The Hag nodded and waved the men forwards, “Wrap her and take her home… we have done as we were asked.”

As the men stepped towards Elianna the hag rose and turned around.

Elianna sank to Lady Naguii’s side and began weeping, covering her mouth with one hand while extending and touching her mistress’ bloody cheek with the other.

The two shocked guards stood behind the high-elf motionless as they merely looked on.

Darting her head around Elianna roared at them through tears, “W-well come on you fools! Help me!”

Through her sobs and the horror around her Elianna began taking off her cloak. “W-we must… we must g-get her bathed… we must get her home. My lady…”

…

When they brought Lady Naguii back to the family villa it was done speedily and Elianna tried to limit those involved. But despite her efforts it quickly spread throughout the household, and then it reached Lord Titos’ ears.

The lead Death Hag had somehow followed them home and silently watched Elianna as she struggled to deal with her mistress. Every time someone attempted to speak to her she merely glared and remained quiet.

Elianna drew something of a bath and ordered the guardsmen to get a few of the other slaves to help.

Having laid Lady Naguii’s unconscious body on the floor of the bathroom Elianna struggled through her tears to wipe down and get the blood off of her mistress, but no matter how hard or how much she scrubbed it wasn’t coming clean.

When the other slaves arrived they each opened their eyes wide in horror at the state of their mistress, and then at the attendance of the blood covered Death Hag who stood draped in a thin black robe watching with large dark eyes as Elianna tried to wipe down Lady Naguii’s arm.

It took what felt like hours but eventually the women began to get the dark blood off the pale flesh of their mistress.

Then they lifted their nude lady up and into the master-bedchamber.

“She… she’s so light…” Tiana remarked.

The human slave was a newer acquisition of the family and almost never spoke, but the still shaken Elianna nodded as well as the other tense and frightened woman.

“It’s as if…” Julé, a Bretonnian, began.

“She’s lost all her weight.” Elianna sobbed and finished.

With a scream Elianna looked behind her at the still-silent Death Hag, “Why are you still here! Why do you linger? Why must you shadow her like carrion?!”

The Death Hag merely smiled as she noiselessly walked behind them.

“Ignore her Elianna…” Tiana whispered, “it’s bad luck to look at those creatures…”

The two humans were so fearful of the Death Hag that they never made eye contact with her.

“T-to the bed” Julé stuttered.

The three slaves lowered their mistress into the sheets and fur of the large canopied bed as Elianna quietly voiced her thoughts aloud, “We… we need to, we need to wake her.”

They nodded and then set to the corners of the room; collecting a pitcher of water from Lady Naguii’s vanity and then some face wash cloths from a linen drawer.

…

When Titos arrived he entered into the bedchamber and stood in the open doorway for several minutes watching the female slaves go about frantically trying to tend to their mistress.

“Here’s a wet cloth…” Tiana announced as she handed it to Elianna.

Julé was losing her composure and beginning to frantically run her hands through her hair as she shivered. “D-do we get an apothecary? What do we do… what do we…”

Elianna remained focused on Lady Naguii’s face and Tiana stepped towards the Bretonnian and raised her voice, “Silence Julé! We must… we’ve…”

Lord Titos stepped forwards and loudly brought his heel onto the wooden floor of the room.

Each slave looked towards the male Druchii with a horrified expression.

The Death Hag began a low cackle and Titos looked to the side of the room and the priestess nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“What has happened?” He asked.

Elianna ignored him and set towards Lady Naguii’s side, caressing her face and cooing through her tears; “Please wake my lady… my lady. Show any sign… please…”

The Death Hag stepped her filthy bare feet across the wood and towards the Druchii lord.

“She didn’t make plain her plans to you?” Titos looked away from the Hag to his property and Julé pursed her lips and shook in silent fear.

Then he issued a low growl and Tiana quickly stepped forwards, “S-she… she went to the temple of-“

Raising his hand Titos silenced the slave and eyed the Death Hag with anger.

“You will tell me everything, now.”

With a toothy grin the Hag bowed and touched her breast, her voice was mocking; “As you wish my lord…”

…

Running her hands through her hair Raveres tightly pulled back her locks and readjusted how her pony tail sat along the back of her head.

She sighed and looked around the quaint room.

They were in a mess hall of some kind, and everything about it spelled ‘barracks’ to her.

The tables were carved into by knife and dagger tips and the benches were worn by years of armoured asses polishing them.

‘Gods below… I hope that blasted knight hurries.’ She groaned.

Finishing off the knot in her hair she relaxed her arms and looked towards the squire, he sat to the corner of the room beside a small iron-barred window, his nose buried into his book.

Raveres had half a mind to ask him what it was that he seemed so interested in, but she eventually shook her head and abandoned it, mentally scolding herself; ‘The fool still won’t understand you! What, he’s magically going to have learned Druhir? Come on Raveres…’

Before Sir Jean had left them he had warned that his countrymen may not be so appreciative of her presence, and indeed Sir Jean had to tell the man who had greeted them, a knight or noble of some sort, several lies to allow her entry to the guarded blockhouse.

She thought about the man’s expression when he realised what she was. It was as if someone had told him his castle was on fire.

She smiled.

Though Sir Jean spoke with the man in their tongue she could tell from the body language, from everything about his demeanour that he feared her and despised her.

‘He’s a handsome creature though…’

Raveres began daydreaming and smirked, ‘Seems almost unfair that as soon as he greeted us he left with the old knight to some dusty corner of this strange keep…’

The nobleman who’d greeted them had shoulder length flowing brown hair, his face was full and he had a moustache which was carefully groomed. His eyes were a dark blue and lively, and when he first appeared he seemed friendly enough.

But as Sir Jean spoke, Raveres recalled how he had recoiled. His kind eyes hardened, and his face barely restrained his contempt.

‘Ugh’ she groaned. Throwing her arms above her head the Druchii began stretching and yawning. ‘I certainly hope that not every interaction I have on this bloody journey has the same beginning…’

Her thoughts and the quiet of the room were interrupted by the loud unlatching of the building’s main door.

As soon as the reinforced wood parted Raveres turned her ears to listen closely as what sounded like four men entered; their footfalls were heavy and sounded metallic.

‘Armour’ she immediately thought. ‘Though it wouldn’t be the knights from outside… nothing was about to make them abandon their posts yet without a relief. Then they must be returned Bretons, quartered here as part of the embassy mission?’

Her thinking was interrupted as three tense and angry looking humans entered into the hall.

She took in a breath and straightened her back as she looked at the men. Each of them had a stern and unforgiving expression.

At their appearance Jacque put his book down and stood from his seat and began eyeing his fellow Bretonnians uneasily.

Raveres hadn’t wanted to linger more than was absolutely necessary but by now it seemed like Sir Jean’s meeting was taking an age, and the situation had just become far more precarious.

Eventually the three Bretonnian warriors stepped into the room, their mail loudly clinking and their boots drawing across the stone floor with shrill scrapes. Each man was armed and they kept their left hands held at their hilts. The angle made drawing their blades easier but at the moment their right hands were folded into fists or at rest on their belts.

They still had said nothing but as they sat down opposite Raveres she knew that they wanted trouble; they smelt of a fight and the way their eyes looked at her… Now that they were closer she saw that it was nothing but pure hatred.

One of the men stared unblinkingly at Raveres and eventually she began staring at him back. ‘He’s the leader; he’s the _balls_ of the three.’ She deduced.

She hid a sadistic smirk, ‘Let’s see if he’s got the gall to test me…’

…

Jacque picked up on the tension but knew not what he could do to alleviate it. His young mind whirled with awkwardness and anxiety, but before he could think of anything the room became filled with the deep voice of one of the knights. It was a question and it seemed to be directed at him,

“What is a dark-elf whore doing in our quarters?”

Jacque looked up and immediately narrowed his eyes, emotion more than sense came out, and he involuntarily spat; “How dare you Sir!”

The two men on either side of the lead soldier looked at Jacque and immediately laughed. “Look at the squire! I think the little bastard’s in love!”

Jacque ignored the jab and felt compelled to reference chivalry; “You know damned well it is ill fitting of a knight to insult another! And further, it is doubly so to do it to one who doesn’t speak in his tongue…”

The two men jeered and sniggered as their leader turned away from staring Raveres down to eye the boy.

“All I know…” he began coldly, “Is that I spent more time than you’ve been alive killing these pale knife-eared cunts; men, women…” he chuckled hollowly, “the only good Druchii…” he looked back at Raveres, “Is a dead Druchii.”

Jacque swallowed tensely as the man slowly rose up from the table’s bench. The two other knights followed their leader and stood up from their seat.

Raveres remained quietly watching as the men walked over and set towards the squire.

“My name is Sir Tormande Gilayne and home in Bretonnia they called me ‘elf-bane’. Perhaps you could take a guess why?”

Jacque found himself involuntarily pressed against the wall behind him and he quickly sbegan to lose his earlier courage.

One of the men sniggered loudly and escalated the situation as he pushed the young man.

“Aye maybe we ought to take him to the yard and thrash him, eh Tormande? Then we deal with his cunny over there?”

Raveres hadn’t moved but her face had tensed and she had narrowed her eyes slightly at the men.

Jacque’s face was struggling to remain composed, “I-I am squire and ward to Sir Jean Le Tours, we are charged by Duke Meroux with a sensitive mission…”

The men stepped from Jacque and eyed him oddly.

“You men are also sworn to serve the Duke are you naught?”

The men remained quiet and Jacque continued, “Then step the damn hells away from me!”

They actually moved somewhat at his raised voice, and as Jacque continued speaking his chest filled with confidence once more, “We are following the Duke’s orders and if you impede or accost myself, Sir Jean, or even our companion… you are directly spitting on your liege lord!”

The two other knights stepped away uneasily as they looked at the squire their brows furrowed in concern and confusion. But Sir Tormande remained stoically composed.

As soon as the youth finished telling them off Tormande said two low words: “You lie.”

Jacque pursed his lips and swallowed “I warn you sir-“

“You?” The brutish knight spat a dry chuckle, “You, warn me?” Sir Tormande shook his head, “No… No you little shit, I warn you. I will beat you till you piss blood, understand me?”

The knight reached forwards and grabbed Jacque by his thin throat with his gauntleted hand. The sudden brusque movement made the boy reach for his sword’s hilt and Raveres stood loudly from the bench at the commotion.

The two other men drew their swords and darted their eyes from Sir Tormande to Raveres.

Squeezing Jacque’s neck and throwing him to the floor Sir Tormande placed his hand on his hilt and roared at the elf in Druhir, “Sa’an’ishar!”

Raveres furrowed her brow at the familiar words as she drew her sword with the snap of a viper. The dark steel of her blade shone in the candle-light of the hall and she quietly eyed each of the men.

…

‘So the knight knows my tongue?’ Raveres thought, ‘or just that one phrase?’

Testing the bilingualism of her foe she quickly asked the men a question; “Do you really want to die?” her voice was raised but slightly amused.

Sir Tormande smiled and huffed responding in poorly pronounced Druhir, “Final now, you found you tongue.”

Raveres raised a lip and stepped away from the bench as she took up a dueling stance, “I will forgive your handling of the boy; so I only intend to cut off your shield-hand.”

Sir Tormande growled and stepped forwards, hesitantly his fellows followed and the three lightly armoured knights pointed their blades at Raveres.

She smirked and raised an eyebrow as she lowered her centre of mass, ‘Three on one?’ she thought.

“Three knights to one girl? Why…” She bared her teeth and continued sarcastically, “It’s almost a fair fight.”

Sir Tormande cleared his mouth and spat a glob of mucous towards Raveres before speaking in broken Druhir; “We not fight with sea-scum, we will be killing it.”

Raveres couldn’t help but feel amusement at the man’s brutish voice and his butchering of her language.

Looking past the knight’s feet she saw Jacque coughing on the floor. Though now the boy had finally pushed himself up. Coughing and sputtering he began calling, “ _Sir Jean!”_

Raveres turned back at the three men and eyed each of them tensely.

‘Can we even take them you idiot?’ she began thinking. ‘We once sparred several of us together, but… gods I was a child then! I’ve never actually trained for this!’

She maintained her calm expression and felt her heartbeat begin to increase.

‘Stay level, be on the defence here, they started it, let them come to you.’

She mentally agreed with herself and relaxed her leg muscles.

She was still tired from her fight with the ‘Red-Riders’ and neither her arms nor her legs were ready for this kind of activity yet. ‘But you’ve no choice…’

“Sir Jean!” Jacque skirted around the edge of the room towards Raveres’ side.

She ignored him and the sound of his yelling, but the head knight bellowed a remark to the boy and she saw in the corner of her eyes the youth’s face grow beat-red as he stopped.

Jacque then looked at her and then the lead attacker.

The other knights had completely oppositional expressions; one was amused and had a smile across his stubble’d features, while the other was showing his lack of resolve and had visibly cooled.

Jacque swore quietly and then raised his voice to answer the knight’s challenge. The two exchanged a series of words and Raveres felt cowardice and spite flow off of the youth.

She wanted to roll her eyes as she thought, ‘I hope that the old bloody knight can tell these men to _piss off_ before I have to open them.’

As she thought Jacque stopped talking and then drew his sword.

Raveres’ brow rose in surprise but before she could think or say anything Tormande lunged at her, mistaking her reaction for some kind of a signal.

Immediately springing into a reactive action the room became filled with the scraping of steel and the grunting of a fight.

Raveres hopped to the side and parried as the two other men followed forwards.

The unsure warrior set towards Jacque half-heartedly while Sir Tormande and his enthusiastic companion began an uncoordinated barrage towards her.

She easily beat Sir Tormande’s blade away several times, buying her enough respite to riposte and keep his fellow at bay.

‘Go for their faces!’ She thought, ‘That’s a lot of mail and leather they’re wearing and if my blade gets stuck in them, then I’m fucking carrion!’

She leapt on top of the table for the high ground advantage and kicked several empty flagons at the men, stifling their advance.

“Gah!” Sir Tormande growled, “Come here you knife-eared whore!”

Remnant ale from one of the flagons stung his eye and he doubled down on his assault, pushing his companion out of the way.

Raveres couldn’t help but thank him for it; the other knight seemed far more competent at fighting than him.

Disengaging and taking several steps back Raveres reached upwards to the small, low hanging, chandelier, and took one of the still burning wax candles in her left hand.

“You know,” she began, “I’d be worried right now if I weren’t so bloody bored!”

Throwing the candle at Sir Tormande he brought his blade up furiously and hit the long wax cylinder knocking it across the room. Hot wax went flying from its end and landed across his companion’s cheek.

The sudden heat and shock of the liquid so close to his eyes made the man growl and lower his guard.

Opening her eyes wide Raveres saw a perfect opportunity to strike.

Easily leaping over Sir Tormande’s blade she swung her own sword with a light grace towards the distracted knight. By the time he regained himself and looked at her he couldn’t raise his blade to defend himself.

She slashed her sword across his brow. It slit along his left eye and gouged a deep fissure through the skin of his forehead all the way to the bone.

He reeled backwards and tripped over the table’s bench as blood began to pour down his face, blinding him.

At the injury he screamed a most un-knightly wail, clutching at his ruined eye with his left gauntlet while wildly lunging his sword with his right.

Sir Tormande ignored his injured fellow and roared as he mounted the table after the Druchii with a jump.

Raveres caught a brief sight of Jacque and held back a laugh at the strange duel he was embroiled in.

Stomping down the stairs outside the hall and turning into its entrance Sir Jean and the handsome Breton who greeted them appeared, accompanied by another man.

…

“What in the Lady’s name!” Sir Jean exclaimed.

A knight sat on the floor marred in blood, his face completely obstructed by red, screaming as Raveres and another knight fought on top of the hall’s long table, and behind them Jacque was tightly pressing his sword against a third knight’s.

Luc Dupris the Duke’s envoy, and the moustached man from earlier, stood beside Sir Jean.

“Stop this folly now!” Dupris bellowed.

Raveres, Sir Tormande, Jacque, and the uninjured knight each looked towards the doorway as Dupris, Sir Jean, and the moustached man entered.

The Druchii leapt backwards and kept her blade ready as Sir Tormande began boiling with rage.

“Sir Tormande, Sir Cratoun, Sir Finise, I demand in the Lady’s name you explain to me what on earth you’re doing?” Dupris’ voice nearly shook as he spoke; his shoulders twitched and his breaths were heavy. He was unarmed and Sir Tormande had the look of madness in his eye.

Sir Cratoun was the one screaming on the ground and he was hysterically repeating the same thing over and over; “She’s blinded me! The whore blinded me! I, I can’t see!”

Sir Finise looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there and Jacque was panting as he kept his sword pointed at his opponent.

“Jacque? Explain!” Sir Jean yelled.

Luc Dupris held up his hand to Sir Jean, “Your boy may speak after; I am asking the questions here.”

Sir Tormande pointed his sword towards Raveres and spat his words out angrily, “They call me the elf-bane… Near twenty years I spent along the coast sending these raiding scum to the after-world. I’ve hacked and slain whole crews’ worth.”

Luc and Sir Jean stood motionless, listening.

Sir Jean hid a pain across his features, he knew that Raveres might draw some ire among his fellow Bretonnians but, he didn’t think any would dare disrespect guest-law so flagrantly.

“Now you expect me to what, break bread with one? Druchii are for killing! That is all!”

Luc seemingly ignored Tormande’s words, “If you’re quite done Sir Tormande, then get off my goddamn table!”

Sir Jean looked at Dupris hesitantly as the man stepped forwards and his voice continued to rise, “You will stay your blade, you will get down, and you will wait outside in the street until I summon you is that clear?”

The whole room quieted except for Cratoun’s writhing on the ground and Sir Jean as well as the mustached man looked at Dupris with wide eyes.

Sir Jean’s hand gripped his sword and he made eye-contact with Jacque, the boy readied himself and slowly changed his stance.

Raveres had never left her own stance and instead eyed Tormande intensely.

The man’s heavy breaths made his chainmail rattle with every exhale and eventually he shot a look at her of malice.

Luc’s voice returned, “What shall I say unto the Duke? That his men are rash? His men are _stupid?_ They brazenly attacked a _woman_ and a youth and only managed to get one injury and a stalemate?”

Tormande stared Raveres down until he jumped from the table; lowly he grunted his response through gritted teeth; “You will say nothing.”

The three men parted and let Sir Tormande pass; he made for the barracks’ door and pushed the heavy oak portal open with a kick.

“Sir Finise? Was the woman not an enticing enough challenge for you? You opted for the boy?”

The knight lowered his weapon and opened his mouth to respond, Sir Jean interrupted him and stepped forwards “Silence you fool!”

With a swift backhand Sir Jean struck Finise across the cheek and made him hobble backwards.

“Attacking my squire is akin to attacking me. Perhaps then I may finish this bout in my boy’s stead?”

Sir Finise clutched at his face with one hand and kept his blade lowered with the other, blood came down his lip from a crack in the flesh caused by Sir Jean’s gauntlet, “My lord…” he began, “I speak not to defend Sir Tormande’s folly, but… the youth drew steel, Cratoun and Tormande set upon the Druchii and I meant only to keep your squire at bay and from their backs.”

Cratoun was holding his face with both hands and he made a loud cry, “He lies! The two vicious creatures set upon _us!_ The witch has obviously been spelling words and hexes into his ears!”

Sir Jean narrowed his brow, “She doesn’t speak our tongue you bloodied fool!”

Dupris stepped towards Cratoun and smacked him across the back of the head with his open palm, “Stand and depart my hall or I swear by the Lady and the King I will write to the Duke and have you all stripped of your titles and thrown into the sand sea!”

Cratoun issued a pained wail and began a high pitched complaint, “What? I am blinded! The she-elf bitch took my eyes!”

“Sir Cratoun.” The moustached man finally spoke, “I will send for an apothecary-“

Jacque walked towards the blinded Cratoun and despite everything took the knight by the back of his head, pulling his hair and yelling;

“What kind of knight are you?!”

The men observing stepped forwards with a chorus of shouts and hands, Sir Jean put his arms under his squire’s and tried to pull Jacque away from the hobbled man.

“What foul coward you are! We were doing no wrong, and you set forward with insult, then blades, and now you lie!”

Cratoun tried crawling away as Dupris forced himself between Jacque’s kicks and the injured man’s back. The moustached man tensely helped direct Cratoun away from Jacque’s reach but the boy continued with his anger fueled words;

“Each of you is a fake knight!”

His voice climbed as he fought against his master’s grip, “Sir Jean each of them ought to be disrobed and thrown down! None are worthy of the title _Sir._ ”

“Enough boy!” he tried interjecting, but Jacque was having none of it; fighting as hard as he could with both his limbs and his words.

“No! I have been made humbled by insult far too long! These are _false knights_ and they demean the colours they wear and the nobility of our Duke! Each breath they take is an, an insult to the Lady of the Lake!”

Raveres finally stowed her weapon and stepped down from the table, a wry smile across her lips as she looked on.

…

Sadalsuud groaned, “Please Wick’tus, enough of this!”

The two bounced from topic to topic but eventually they settled on Sadalsuud’s travelling companions.

“Please my lord! You cannot depart from the city again! As the next eldest Al Daouk you must remain here, we must declare your brother unfit to rule and make you regent.”

The rotund Arabyan shook his head, “No! I am the third born, I am content without a title, I have made a life, a kingdom of my own.”

Wick’tus lowered his head and cleared his throat, “With the death of-“

Sadalsuud pointed at the Vizier, “Don’t say his name… Don’t.” his voice faltered, “If I hear it, it is as if I am being tortured with my failure to avenge him, his wife, and my nephews…”

The Vizier bowed penitently and kept his tone quiet, “I know my lord, but Hashan has failed to sire an heir, you are the next Emir whether you like it or not. And you tell me that you plan to ride alongside this, this shipwrecked and penniless Druchii?”

Sadalsuud took a sip of his tea and emptied the glass cup.

“More than that we’re to finance this woman? Outfit her? Assign some men, a ship even! She doesn’t even speak our tongue! M-my lord…” He quieted again. “Please, you must remain here.”

Sadalsuud looked at the Vizier with pained eyes, “And continue to let the man who slew my brother sail free? No!” he shook his head, “If you want me to supplant my brother in practise if not in name then I will have this vengeance!”

The Vizier leaned backwards wearily, “We’re bargaining now?”

The merchant-prince nodded, “At least I’m not begging.”

The elderly man pursed his lips and remained quiet for a long time.

“You were always a child more content to write your own stories, did you know that?

Sadalsuud furrowed his brow.

“I remember your father, may he rest in peace, telling a guard to beat you once. And I dissuaded him; I said to him ‘your son has been blessed by the poet’s brush’ I always told him that you were a silver-tongued prince.”

Sadalsuud groaned, “Please, I’m far too old for lectures.”

Wick’tus sat up straight and flicked his beard off his lap, “I still breathe and you will remain that boy I saved from a whipping if you don’t listen!”

The merchant-prince raised a brow and sharply took a breath.

“The truth of the matter is, we don’t get to write our own life stories, they are written and weaved for us by the gods. And right now, your story demands that you listen to an old man just a while longer.”

Sadalsuud bit his tongue.

“I dare say your brother didn’t wish to be made mad. Your other brother, may he rest in peace, didn’t wish his blade to break as it had… Sadalsuud, you must follow this and you must help me, help your brother, your people.”

For a long time Sadalsuud sat in silence, staring at the carpeted floor. The geometric pattern of the weaver’s skill rippled and glowed with vibrant colours. He traced the lines with his eyes until finally he took a long breath.

“I shall do as you bid…”

The Vizier nodded in gratitude.

“But Wick’tus, I must see justice delivered to this pirate. I will not assume the regency until I hold the head of Annio-Luis De Bilbali in my hands and my family’s honour is avenged.”

The elderly man grunted in agreement, “If that is what you will, then it shall be done my lord…”

Sadalsuud sighed, “Now… I was hoping to introduce the Druchii and her companions to Hashan but-“

Wick’tus shook his head, “That would be most unwise… But we may invite them to the palace all the same. Hashan spends the majority of his time in his tower so there’s no fear of them meeting.”

The rotund merchant nodded, “We shall show them hospitality and then I will send them out to find Bilbali.”

The Vizier clutched at the Emir’s seal which hung from a golden chain around his neck, “I will draught a decree now if you would like?”

With a smirk Sadalsuud stood and extended his hand to assist the aged statesman, “I’ll send for them and be back to read it with you.”

Wick’tus made a curt nod and his voice betrayed his relief with a comical tone, “I wasn’t begging you know…”

Sadalsuud laughed as he walked towards the doorway, “Sure old man, sure.”

…

Luc Dupris bowed his head slightly as he spoke to Raveres, his Druhir was stilted and irritating but she could understand him well enough.

“If you were a noble elf of the Phoenix court then I would kiss your feet and beg forgiveness for the folly of the men who serve my lord but-“

“I am not.” She interjected.

He smirked as he agreed, “Aye, you are not. So I will merely express my condolences that you’ve been rudely treated.”

Raveres straightened her neck as she took a breath.

Dupris indicated her Bretonnian travelling companions and continued, “But I hear that Sir Jean has rescued you? Apparently you’ve sworn your life to him for the time being.”

She ignored the words and he took her silence as confirmation all the same. Dupris continued “He has asked me to give him leave.” The ambassador chuckled, “He intends to accompany you on the payment of your debt.”

He shifted his weight as he considered his words, “I was… shocked to say the least that such a thing had happened. But, the Duke told me many times before leaving Bretonnia that the wide-world would contain many a thing to shock and throw me off guard.”

Raveres watched the man, keeping a steady pattern in her breathing.

“A reasonable Druchii…” he mused. Turning back towards Sir Jean he switched into their language and the men spoke a few words.

Sir Jean’s face lightened and he bowed his head to the man.

Jacque gritted his teeth and avoided the man’s eyes; quietly the boy seethed at his impotence and earlier outburst.

Dupris nodded to the moustached man and he eyed Raveres with a shot of disdain before leaving the room.

Turning back to face the elf Luc bowed his head again, “I have a feeling that we’ll never meet one another again milady.”

“Yet if we were to, I would prefer to know your name?”

Raveres raised one of her dirty eyebrows and let out an involuntary scoff, “Perhaps you might identify yourself first?”

Dupris opened his mouth and then smiled, “Of course my lady.” He cleared his throat, “I am lord Lucian Gilles Dupris, ambassador of Duke Meroux and nephew of the same.”

The Druchii made a curt ‘hmph’.

Wordlessly the handsome lord raised an eyebrow and egged her on.

‘Very well’ she sighed, “I am Raveres Morthai Naguii.”

She made a small curtsey and quickly straightened.

“Well Lady Naguii.” Luc began, but Raveres immediately cringed, thinking; ‘Only my mother is called that.’

“I’ll say it now, and in Druhir for your convenience.” He turned to Sir Jean, “I see no reason to stand in the way of your honour Sir Jean. In our lord’s name I hereby grant you assent and the leave to accompany your elvish charge here.”

Raveres felt a wave of encouragement and she saw Sir Jean bow his head quickly, “Thank you my lord…”

“See her quest finished, satisfy your chivalric duty, and return as soon as you may.”

He looked at Raveres again, “However I forbid any further…” he paused and searched for the proper translated word. He smiled to himself before continuing, “‘Friendly’ interaction with you. Your people and mine are not allies.”

Raveres smiled and nodded once in agreement, looking over his shoulder at the elder knight he continued, “Jean? See the debt paid.” Curtly nodding his head Luc finished with a dry; “My lady.” Before he turned and left the room swiftly.

The lord’s boots loudly clunked along the stone tiles of the floor.

Sir Jean exhaled tensely and turned to Jacque and Raveres, first he spoke in his tongue to Jacque and the boy huffed petulantly, then he set to scolding the Druchii.

“What did you two do to provoke them?”

Raveres opened her mouth widely and was about to respond just as petulantly as the boy, but she quickly held her tongue and cooled her words, “I did nothing, save for breathing.”

Sir Jean furrowed his brow and then tried to make sense of what had happened.

“Nothing?” He repeated.

With a disappointed smile Raveres clarified; “I sat in silence as you had bid and waited your return. Your countrymen entered stinking of grit, anger, and a desire for blood.”

“They struck your boy first before trying me. I told the tall one, their leader, I’d take only his hand for the insult, I thought of you and imagined you’d approve of my restraint.”

Sir Jean failed to see her humour and instead grumbled as Raveres unwittingly corroborated what Jacque had said earlier in his tongue.

Shaking his head the knight exhaled wearily.

The moustached man returned to the room and quietly spoke to the knight.

The elderly man held his breath and scratched his scruff before sharing quick words with the moustached man.

…

Four elaborately dressed guards were sitting on horseback outside the Bretonnian embassy, the fifth of their number; a herald, sat atop the choicest steed; its colours were bright and the gilded barding of its armour bore a grand headdress of feathers and the seal of the city’s Emir.

The herald bowed elaborately as he greeted Sir Jean, Raveres, Jacque, and the Moustached Breton.

Sir Jean stood uneasily at the succession of so much activity in one day.

The Herald spoke in slightly accented Bretonnian, “I have been sent by my lord Emir; the great lion who watches over all who live in the loving arms of the river’s basin: Hashan. He bids me extend his most gracious and pious invitation to dine and receive his hospitality in the blue palace.”

Sir Jean nodded and bowed his head politely, “I am humbled that his highness has sent such a host to greet us.”

The Herald smiled genuinely, “We shall escort you all to the palace, noble Bretonnian.”

Sir Jean whispered a summarised translation to Raveres and she relaxed her brow while sighing somewhat excitedly.

Then the three remounted their horses which were lashed to a wooden post just a few yards from the Bretonnian embassy’s doors.

As the three travelling companions followed their Arabyan escort Sir Tormande watched from an alley on the opposite side of the wide street, his mouth turned in spiteful rage.

…

The road to the palace began widening and at first Raveres felt a flutter of childish excitement as she looked around the awe inspiring lane.

Both sides of the stone road were lined with cultivated trees, arranged flowerbeds of exotic colours, and there were fountains at regular intervals between the garden beds, and each one was larger than the previous until finally her eyes came to the end of the street:

The gate to the palace grounds was made of dark lapis stone and soared high into the sky; there were fountains built into the gate and they had intricate plumbing which shot water up in a wide arc from the one side to the other. The visual effect created a moving tunnel of water under which they were expected to pass.

The palace’s gates were open wide and there was a stream of foot traffic walking in and out of the blue gate.

Raveres saw that the men and women were obviously the nobles of the city, and they were all dressed in such finery as to put the richest of her family’s relations to shame.

At first her innocent awe and wonder at the sights around her gave a pleasant feeling in her chest, but the closer that they got to the gate the more that Raveres’ emotion began to sour. The innocence, the awe and childish glee at the sights around her were replaced and she began to feel embarrassed and ashamed. Her thoughts turning inward as she began to take a negative stock;

Her hair was matted, greasy, and had spots of dried blood still in it. She had cleaned her face, but even that was simply water without soap, her cheeks remained dark and reddish from the road and her pores clogged and full of dirt.

Her hands and forearms were grimy and her sweat was making sand cling to her. The white of the riding cloak she wore was splattered with spots of blood and the back and edges of the garment were stained with trail dust. Even the gold of her earrings was dirty and no longer held a shine.

She became conscious of every single thing about her appearance, and the closer that they got to the palace gates the more she saw the looks of awkwardness and apprehension directed towards her. Before now she honestly hadn’t thought about how she looked, since Sir Jean, and even Jacque, was just as dishevelled as her. So the grime coating her hadn’t been a bother until now.

Since falling from her ship Raveres was still wearing her ‘casual’ rough spun and ill-fitting drab dark trousers. They were unflatteringly stained from the salt of the sea water, and her sweat created dark patches along the back of her legs and knees.

Under her dirty and scuffed cuirass she had a simple light coloured blouse, the arms of which had to be rolled up for comfort and the quality of its thread was no more better than any of the other sailors she originally journeyed with.

She felt insulted by the indignity of her dress and continued to steep in insecurity. ‘These apish fools…’ she thought, ‘If I were in my _real_ armour or even if I were dressed in my family’s colours I would demand dread respect just by the sight of me!’

Every snicker, each gasp, and all the whispers of the ‘beautiful’ nobles she felt was directed at her. And so her shame quickly rotted into anger.

She gritted her teeth and began staring ahead with spite as her eyes became deep, dark, and her brow narrowed.

Strange birds loudly called from the trees above them and she shot them a look too; ‘Even the fauna insults me.’ She thought.

Sir Jean looked behind to see her expression and he whistled to get her attention; “My lady, why are you so dour?”

She rolled her eyes, “See how they look at me? I look like a commoner!”

The knight shook his head, careful with his tone as he corrected her. “No, Lady Raveres. You look like you were just in battle.”

She wasn’t expecting that kind of response and her features softened as she visibly expressed her shock.

“Most of these people have never seen an elf before, let alone a Druchii. So to see you in armour, a sword at your side, accompanied by warriors, as well as being a woman? You must appreciate,” he laughed, “It’s most unusual to say the least.”

‘Is that… is that so?’ she thought.

“But I’ve only my gauntlet and cuirass for armour? And a single sword?”

Sir Jean smiled and brought his horse closer to her side, “You’re covered in sand and beside an equally marred knight.”

She looked to their side at the whispering and watching nobles.

“See the swords the men have?”

Not every nobleman was armed, but the few that were had small ornate blades at their sides.

“I can guarantee you that none of them have seen battle this decade, if at all.”

She hid a smile, “Is that so…”

Sir Jean nodded, “These nobles are merchant-princes and the like; they are not fighters. They avoid war if they can, or they see how they can profit from one.”

He lowered his voice as they passed through the azure gate and under the water arch. As soon as they entered the inner wall of the palace’s courtyard the first colour she saw was green. A vast manufactured jungle of terraced gardens and flowing artificial rivers went from side to side in front of the palace’s grand steps.

The stone path up to the palace’s three arched entryways was flanked by a row of equestrian statues, though rather than horses the men were mounted on lions.

In front of the steps were six slaves and they immediately stepped forwards to tend to Sir Jean, Jacque, and Raveres’ horses.

“You are an elf, and a _woman_ , they are more interested in you than you could possibly know.”

Raveres furrowed her brow, “Surely not!”

As the slaves stepped closer and helped direct them towards the palace steps she saw the familiar face of Sadalsuud at the top of the staircase. He was flanked by a robed and ancient looking man on his right, and a bald, muscled, and darkly skinned man on his left.

Sir Jean nodded as the procession halted.

“You are going to be an item of curiosity in the Emir’s court like you wouldn’t believe…”

Before she could speak with the Breton again the herald turned and bowed, speaking a few words to the knight before saluting Sadalsuud and trotting towards a smaller gate on the side of the courtyard, the mounted guardsmen following him as he left.

Sadalsuud loudly bellowed greetings as the three visitors were assisted down from their mounts by the slaves.

Raveres pursed her lips as her thoughts and assumptions began to race, she adjusted her sword and pushed a stray strand of her silver hair from her eye. ‘An item of curiosity?’ she repeated. ‘I certainly hope this Arabyan… hmph. No…’

She shook her head and patted the horse’s neck as she stepped away from the steed and towards the stairs.

Sadalsuud walked down a few of the steps as Sir Jean spoke to him and he smiled as he bowed in Raveres’ direction.

She made a slight motion of her head to acknowledge him, but left it at that.

Jacque remained in the courtyard even as the horses were led away by the slaves. He looked around the gardens and seemed to enjoy the attention they were getting from the supplicants and nobles.

The youth had a strange smile across his features and he held the hilt of his sword with his left hand his right planted firmly on his hip.

Sir Jean called his name and he quickly nodded and followed towards the stairs.

Raveres began slowly walking up the steps as well. But with each step she began to feel more uneasy.

Sadalsuud introduced the two men he was standing with and then began gesticulating in the air as he raised his voice.

Reaching the top of the stairs Raveres looked to the ancient man and then the tall dark man each made a bow of their head quietly.

When Sadalsuud finished his short speech Sir Jean nodded and expressed a few words in the Arabyan tongue.

When he was finished the bearded sage beside Sadalsuud spoke.

Raveres felt pleasantly surprised; his words were in Druhir. It was antiquated and stilted, ‘…but better than Tormande’s that’s for sure’ she thought with a smile.

His accent and pronunciation made him sound like he came from the Black Court, but… she smiled again, there wasn’t the stereotypical sarcasm and venom behind his words.

“Blessings upon thee, and thine house, we regret that our knowledge of the Druchii speech is limited thus, but we are most certain that a slave of foreign tongues may be found for you.”

The man then stepped forwards and presented a Druchii styled bow. His arms and hands moved exactly right, and his crooked back tilted perfectly.

Raveres was impressed to see such a display from a human, but then she felt oddly unworthy of it. She was the seventh born, and even so only her father and mother would have the rank to demand and enjoy such an address.

As she thought about the bow a voice of pride in the back of her mind began speaking, ‘But… you’re the only Druchii here! Who’s to notice? I’m surprised he even knew how to do such a bow in the first place! Savour it! You _deserve recognition._ ’

Raveres made a modified curtsey and responded to the elderly man as Sadalsuud watched, a smile hidden in his dark beard.

“The Naguii thank you for your blessings, and I extend mine to you and your master. Though I wonder-”

She stopped herself from saying anything caustic and looked at Sir Jean. The Breton seemingly read her mind and waited as she chose more polite words.

“I ask who I am addressing.”

The long bearded sage responded quickly, “My apologies, we are Wick’tus, advisor to the Al Daouk and keeper of the Emir’s seal. And you my dread-lady?”

Raveres smirked at the title she had yet to earn, “I am Raveres, fifth born daughter of Lord Titos Naguii. I am not a Dreadlord yet my Lord Wick’tus, and regardless of one’s gender the title is the same. There are no dread-ladies.”

He closed his eyes and nodded in apology, “Forgive mine ignorance.” He chuckled, “Perhaps you might be the first then?”

Raveres raised a brow at the joke.

Sadalsuud grinned and then waved for them to follow him as he began towards the great arched entrances to the palace.

The round Arabyan spoke and Sir Jean translated for Raveres as they followed their host out of the sun and into the shade of the cool stone building.

“Sadalsuud says that we are to be well-treated guests of his and spend the rest of the day here should we wish. Rooms have been made for us and he has vowed that ‘every need may be satisfied’.”

Raveres raised a brow, “This is… o-overwhelming.” She stuttered out.

“While I am nothing but…” she looked at Sadalsuud and the Vizier, both smiled as she spoke to Sir Jean.

Now she had to be mindful of her words, the Vizier knew Druhir too, and while he seemed old and decrepit she had to be wary: ‘sights are deceiving’ she thought, especially now that she was in a palace.

Court intrigue, politic, and all manner of foulness would soon surround her and Raveres was cursing her secluded upbringing more and more. She didn’t really know how to deal with courtiers; she had no idea how to disarm the daggers which surely made up these men’s smiles.

“I wonder, these rooms, how well attended are they? I have no interest in rest… but a bath.” She exhaled a sigh, “I daresay that would be almost as nice a gift as this sword.”

She slapped her hand to her blade as the Vizier whispered his translation to Sadalsuud.

Sir Jean appeared almost relieved that he wasn’t the translator or diplomat for once.

Sadalsuud chuckled and spoke quickly as they stepped into the grand ceilinged entrance-hall.

The Vizier translated and indicated two female servants which stood with their heads bowed at the side of the hall. They stood in front of a grand doorway and when the Vizier pointed at them, as if on cue, they looked up and bowed to the visitors.

“These servants are Lord Sadalsuud’s personal gifts to you during your stay in the palace; they shall lead you to your chambers and ensure that you are taken care of before this evening.”

Sadalsuud laughed and twirled his beard, as he spoke again.

Wick’tus then continued his translation, “After you are accommodated you may join Lord Sadalsuud in the Emir’s court. Afterwards lord Sadalsuud intends to host a small banquet. He hopes that you all will do him the honour of dining with him?”

Sir Jean nodded and bowed as he responded in Arabyan.

Raveres bowed her head and wordlessly agreed.

“Splendid!” The Vizier announced and Sadalsuud smiled widely.

Raveres felt a lump begin to grow in her gut, ‘Gods below… I’m not appearing in court dressed like this…’

She groaned mentally as she prayed: ‘Dark Mother, watch over me.’

…

Author’s Note:

Good evening Boils and Ghouls,

I am back, as I promised, and I exceeded my expectations of 10’110 words! Hopefully you all have enjoyed this chapter. There’s more to come; chapter 11 is already nearly done and I hope to get to my other works and give them all some attention as well.

Now I’m asking for a little audience participation here so bear with me, but I need some feed-back: I have a few concerns that I would love some input on and if you’d like to drop a comment or shoot me a PM that would be absolutely fantastic!

First concern: Am I going too slow, rushing, or producing poor pacing at all? (Please be honest, I can take it.)

Second: Chapter size… how long is too long? And how short is too short? What do you guys think?

Third: What (or who) do you want to see (read) more of? And are there any things which you feel I’m neglecting, forgetting, glossing over, focusing too much on, et cetera.

Fourth (optional): Does chapter/part 11 need some smut? If you think so, feel free to drop some suggestions.

Once again, thank you all very much for reading, you’re great!

-VV

P.S. As always if there are bad errors; syntax, repetitions, contradictions, please point them out SVP. <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raveres and co. enjoy the comforts of the palace, while Lady Naguii awakes and Lord Titos sets familial plots into motion.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Eleven

The Druchii and her companions walked after their host-slaves down a corridor from the entrance hall and towards the palace’s guest rooms.

The slaves were dressed in the exact same clothes; they were both barefoot and wore strange billowy pants which were tied at the base of their ankles, their tops were sleeveless and high collared with a shallow neckline which only showed the lines of their collar bones and a hint of cleavage.

Everything they wore was heron-blue in colour; but the dye was such a light shade that it could easily be seen as either whitish-blue or bluish-white.

Overall it was strange to Raveres and it appeared both indescribable for her and at once irritating. She felt almost repulsed by the sight of the unflattering uniform, but was keeping her discontent to herself.

The Bretons were speaking to one another quickly, though to Raveres it sounded more like a one-sided lecture. She smiled and shot a look to her side at Jacque; the youth furrowed his brow and cocked his mouth to one side before returning his attention to his matter and nodding, saying ‘yes’ several times.

Raveres almost escaped a scolding but Sir Jean turned to her and her smug expression changed. Jacque hid a small smile and looked ahead.

“And you too!” the knight began, “We are guests of the Emir… and I expect you to hold your tongue and to speak as softly as you can possibly fathom! I do not want to lose my head because of your brashness or disrespect.”

Raveres rolled her tongue around in her mouth as the knight cleared his throat to continue, “Do you understand Druchii? And before you speak, remember your oath to me.”

The she-elf opened her mouth and immediately felt a shot to her ego: memories of her ‘over-acting’ and her pleading with the knight came back with embarrassing vividness.

The combination of lies and truth and the blurring of the two gave her pause before she nodded and quietly acquiesced; “I, understand. And I remember…”

The knight grunted, “Good. Now I don’t know how much waiting on from slaves I can take here. But we will accept this hospitality and be on our way as swiftly as possible. Gods know I can barely tolerate such injustice…”

The knight muttered to himself more as they walked along, and before long the hall split and the two men were led one way while Raveres another. The she-elf felt uneasy to part from Sir Jean, but at the same time she felt some relief to be out from under his paternal gaze.

A few yards walk down the stone and carpeted hall and the short female slave led Raveres to an ornately decorated door between two large columns set into the wall. The slave unlatched the handle and easily pushed it open, bowing her head as she waved the guest to enter.

Raveres raised an eyebrow but followed the slave’s insistence.

The Druchii was thankful for having gone first, otherwise the slave would have seen her dumbstruck expression. The first thing which stopped her was the colours:

The chamber was lavishly decorated, and opposite the door was a wide balcony and window which looked over the palace walls to the city.

The curtains were practically useless; they were a thin see-through material which easily blew and moved in the wind. But as with everything else they were vibrantly dyed. Looking downwards Raveres gawked, even the floor tiles were brightly coloured!

Arranged in dazzling patterns, the builders had used azure, white and black marble; jade, as well as red-stone to make an intricate weaving of geometric shapes and mathematical angles.

The lounging furniture had to have been made by artisans; the fabric thread of the cushions had been spun with gold and glittered as the afternoon sun shone on them.

After taking a few steps into the room the slave followed her, closing the door before stepping around and in front of Raveres. The slave began pointing towards a steaming stone bathtub which was built into the side of the room on her left.

The Druchii smiled and continued to look around the room as she slowly stepped after the slave.

To her right was the room’s massive bed, it had pillows strewn about the velvet-looking sheets and each feather-filled comfort seemed carefully placed to appear the most inviting to her wearied body. The bed was dyed blue and had accenting colours which reflected the palatial status of room.

The slave lowered beside the tub and dipped her tan fingers in to feel the water. Looking up she nodded, it had cooled enough and was now ready for use.

“Gods…” the she-elf sighed.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she smelt the fragrance of incense which must have been burning somewhere close; it was sweet to her nose, and soothing.

So far everything about the chamber told her, for the first time since falling from her ship; ‘it’s going to be okay’.

When she opened her eyes she waved the slave forwards and spoke, though she knew the slave didn’t understand her, Raveres didn’t care. She just had to speak; she needed to get her thoughts out of her head and off of her tongue.

“Come hither, help me undress.”

Finally articulating the desire to remove the stifling filth and the clothes which she felt trapped in was almost half the relief. Her chest felt a weight removed from around her heart and lungs and she drew an easy breath.

For as long as she was in this chamber she would have reprieve.

Her thoughts began to reinforce this sentiment and issued a small prayer almost, ‘We are, for once, _at home_ here…’

She smiled, ‘Warm water… can you imagine it? Look! _Look!_ ’ She looked downwards at the rippling and steaming bath and felt a pleasant shiver of anticipation through her legs.

‘… And an attendant too?’ she privately smirked, ‘I wonder if Sadalsuud was being literal when he said they’d ‘satisfy every need’? Or if he was merely being polite…’

“Hmm…”

Now somewhat at ease Raveres looked back up and finally got a good look at the servant which had been assigned to her.

The slave girl was swarthy and her skin was just a few shades lighter than Sadalsuud’s, but unlike the merchant-prince the slave was far more groomed and ‘far better looking’ Raveres thought with a laugh.

Her hair was long and had been pulled back into a tight braid which went down her back to her waist. It was black as pitch and but there were a few beads which glittered in between the dark locks of the braid; some strands of her hair had been needled through small clasps or rings.

Raveres couldn’t help but wonder at the amount of time it must have taken the slave to have done such braiding herself, but knowing the opulence displayed so far by Sadalsuud and his family they probably had servants specifically to groom their servants!

The girl’s eyes were a light brown, but they were framed by very dark lashes, and her eyebrows had been carefully painted on.

Raveres furrowed her brow, ‘Painted? Why on earth…’ she thought about it but couldn’t come up with a reason the slave would have needed to remove her facial hair in such a way.

The woman saw how Raveres was looking at her and she averted her eyes awkwardly.

The slave’s lips and mouth was small but nicely shaped, and as the she thought she would make a small movement of her nose and lips to one side, almost like a smirk, subconsciously. It was endearing, and Raveres smiled to herself as she admired the slave’s subdued beauty.

Finally having worked up the courage the slave slowly rose and looked up at Raveres, indicating the bath as she came towards her. Raveres nodded once and then the slave pointed at the Druchii’s chest before pantomiming taking off her shirt.

Reaching to her side Raveres began unlatching the buckles and leather straps which held the two pieces of her cuirass together.

The slave immediately understood how to help and set her small and nimble fingers towards the leather.

Raveres removed her hands to give the slave clear access, and raised her arms into a t-pose, while standing motionless. The Druchii sighed, ‘I honestly cannot believe just how nice it a feeling it is to be treated and waited on by a servant once more…’

“Next time I leave home… I’m bringing Riccard.” She thought aloud.

She huffed and dryly laughed under her breath as she remembered the Norscan. “Oh Riccard…” she thought wistfully, “Maybe Elianna too…”

She smiled and paused as pleasant thoughts of home came back to her like warm caresses.

“Blacklight Tower seems so utterly small when compared to this place…”

As her breastplate peeled away from her body she let out another heavy breath as the weight of the dented steel came off her shoulders.

Standing still she looked around the guest chamber again. Its walls had been painted with geometric patterns and the room was well lit by sconces and the wide window.

“Even my bedchamber back home is smaller…” she shook her head, ‘this room is nearly double the size, at least!’

Her chest filled with a strange feeling as she continued to picture home.

She shut her eyes and groaned as she began pulling her blouse over her head.

Her amulet of Khaine jingled along its chain musically and she looked down to see that it had pressed an awkward divot into her skin from the hours since the battle against the Red-Riders.

Her arms were sore, and to lift them above her shoulders was far more uncomfortable than it should have been.

The slave laid the cuirass, the thick leather belt which had wrapped around it, as well as the sword which Sadalsuud had gifted, onto the ground before darting back up to help her undress.

The girl reached towards Raveres’ neck and was going to help remove the chain and amulet from but the Druchii shot the human a serious look and the slave stopped quickly, instead stooping to assist in removing her trousers.

When she was finally naked Raveres stepped forwards and stretched her arms while groaning.

The slave folded the she-elf’s filthy clothes into neat squares and set them onto the floor before reaching forwards and taking the elf’s hand in hers.

The slave’s hand was so light and soft that as soon as it entered Raveres’ palm she noticed how calloused and rough her skin had become.

“Ugh I’m going to need lots of salves to heal my poor flesh…” she loudly complained.

If her hand was rough or unappealing to the touch the slave gave no indication of it and quietly led Raveres towards the bath’s step.

Standing mute the slave helped to steady her guest and assist the Druchii into the water.

The bath must have been infused with salts and some kind of enchanting oil; for as soon as the bare skin of her foot broke the surface of the calm water she could feel the sweat and grime come off.

With a loud moan Raveres shuddered and her eyes shut as she savoured the feeling,

“Dark Mother… I shall sing your praises!”

Quickly planting her other foot into the tub she stepped down the first level inside the bath so that the water was now at the top of her thighs just before her pelvis.

She stood on her tip-toes, apprehensive of submerging herself completely, and thus feeling the shock of the water against her.

The slave let go of her hand and lowered down to her knees beside the edge of the tub. Several small towels, glass bottles, and what appeared to be a sea-sponge sat laid out for the servant’s use.

‘Okay… I think we’re used to it now, it’s not as hot as the air out there in the wastes that’s for sure!’

Drawing a shallow breath Raveres stepped down to the bottom of the tub, while also bending her knees; submerging herself up to her shoulders.

She let out a combination of a shriek and a weary groan as the water danced along her body and teased her skin.

“Ah, ha, ohh gods…” she sat on the edge of the bath’s interior bottom step and was motionless for several seconds, staring headlong into the wall while issuing a low groan.

The slave raised a brow out of sight of her guest and took in a breath. She regarded the elf strangely, but her job didn’t allow her the luxury of questioning or thinking about whom, or in this case _what_ she was dealing with.

Snapping back to life Raveres looked to her side at the slave and then snapped her fingers, while waving her forwards.

“Come now, what have you got there?”

Moving through the water with a loud slosh Raveres leaned over the edge of the stone tub and motioned to the bottles of ointment and soap.

The servant bowed her head quickly and picked up the first bottle for her. It was the largest out of all of them and was the most interesting colour; the contents appeared yellow and oily, but as the servant moved the vessel the liquid moved as slowly as molasses.

Uncorking the eighteen ounce, glass, bottle the slave held it out as Raveres brought her nose over the lip.

Closing her eyes the Druchii drew a deep breath and bit her tongue to keep from embarrassing herself with an ‘eek’ of joy.

‘It’s like wine and flowers?!’ she took another sniff and exhaled happily, “I don’t even need to smell the others now…” she said with a smile, leaning back into the water. “Which is that for?”

The servant’s face began to wane, she could tell that she’d been asked a question but she had no means of responding, and she felt woefully remiss. Thinking quickly the tanned woman pantomimed pouring the bottle and a scrubbing motion.

The Druchii sighed, “Soap… lovely…”

Waving her hand and nodding Raveres closed her eyes as the slave wet the sponge and poured a coin’s worth of the liquid onto it.

As soon as the wet and suds-filled sponge began scrubbing her sword-arm she opened her eyes and threw her head back with a laugh. The slave hid a smile of her own and her features lightened.

Looking over the woman’s face again Raveres smirked. Angling her legs out of the water she rested her feet on the edge of the tub and pressed her back against the other ‘wall’ of the bath.

Laying her head back she relaxed and let the weight of her head sit on the warm stone.

“Keep at that… Gods be good, may this moment last forever…”

…

By the time the slave had finished scrubbing the dead skin, grime, and dirt off of Raveres’ body the water was a murky grey.

Thankfully the various soaps and ointments which the servant had rubbed upon her had bubbled and generated white foam, obscuring the water and thus it’s filthy colour from potentially embarrassing the guest.

And when it came to her hair Raveres sat on the edge of the tub’s lip as the slave combed through the tangles and massaged her scalp.

She nearly fell asleep as the slave continued to rub and carefully clean her silver locks.

The slave risked a laugh and Raveres debated striking the human, but a second thought about the angle of the movement, the effort required, and the likelihood of pulling her arm, caused her to relent and continue to relax instead.

When the servant signaled she had finished she assisted the Druchii from the water and began wiping her down with a soft towel.

Raveres felt like she’d been rudely ripped from a pleasant dream but her fingers and toes itched with prune-like fissures and wrinkles and she begrudgingly acknowledged that the slave was right to have called it when she did. But she still didn’t like the pseudo-command she’d been given, by a servant…

‘Bloody human.’ she complained.

The servant set to rub her down and skillfully searched after every stray drop and bead of water which she could spot. The proximity of the human’s face to her skin made Raveres think; ‘She’s so close to me…’

Her eyes widened and she felt tenseness in her chest.

The servant stood up and ran the towel over Raveres’ breasts, lightly lifting each one up with one hand while rubbing the soft material along the underside her flesh.

The Druchii took a breath and swallowed, though she made no effort to hide her gaze at the servant.

‘I wonder…’ she thought.

The slave immediately took notice and lowered her head as she attempted to continue her work, but her smile had faded and her face began to darken with redness across her cheeks. Even her movements became less skillful and focused as she obviously became embarrassed.

Having finished drying her body the servant stooped to pick up and offer Raveres a small cloth. She pointed to her face indicating what it was for and she nervously began to stiffen as Raveres failed to take the cloth.

Knowing exactly what she was doing the Druchii began making a small sadistic smile, until the slave met her gaze again and futilely repeated the pointing motion from before. She extended the cloth again and her arm visibly shook.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Raveres asked rhetorically.

The slave opened her mouth and spoke for the first time as she averted her gaze and took a half step backwards. Her words were quiet and completely alien to the Druchii but she could hazard a guess as to what she had said.

Undaunted by the protest Raveres’ grin widened and she took a full step forwards. The slave was forced to move her extend arm backwards lest she touch the she-elf.

Tilting her head down the Druchii blinked and drew a breath before speaking.

“Look, at, me.” Raveres commanded. Her tone was soft but completely authoritarian.

The slave seemed to have understood and hesitantly brought her eyes to meet with the she-elf’s.

Extending her hand the Druchii slowly took hold of the cloth and began a low laugh at the expression across the slave’s face.

Stepping back from the servant Raveres began rubbing her face down, continuing to laugh as the human relaxed and tried to make sense of the situation.

With a satisfied sigh and the water wiped from her brow the Druchii threw the damp cloth to the side and looked back at the slave.

Calming down from her laughter and feeling her heartbeat begin to thump loudly she rolled her shoulders and flicked her damp hair off her chest and back behind her.

The slave’s expression of surprise-turned relief soured and her eyes widened at the Druchii’s new expression; she wasn’t jesting now… and she wasn’t leering… The slave swallowed dryly and stepped backwards in apprehension at Raveres’ eyes.

Her voice wasn’t soft this time and she stepped forwards while raising a hand.

“Now… come here.”

…

When Lady Naguii finally came to she spoke with an eerie calm.

“Where is my Titos?”

Elianna had dozed off with her head resting on the bed beside her mistress’ side and at the sound and quiet movement of Lady Naguii the high-elf slave stirred and blinked the sleep from her eyes.

As soon as the blonde realised that her mistress had awoken she immediately went into action, “My Lady! Oh gods be good!” Moving her hands to touch the arm of her mistress Elianna paused mid-breath as her eyes met with Lady Naguii’s.

“I…” she exhaled. Her breath escaped like she’d been shot with an arrow.

Lady Naguii blinked and began moving her arms and straightening her back as she sat up in her bed.

“You’re not usually this prone to hesitation, what is it Elianna?”

The high-elf averted her eyes as she sat up and stood. She cleared her throat awkwardly, “Your eyes milady… c-can you see?”

Lady Naguii furrowed her brow, “Why… should I not be?”

Elianna gulped and looked back up, “It’s just they’re…”

“Out with it girl, please I have little patience at the moment.”

“They’re red… I-I mean, you’re eyes look like they’re filled with blood!” Elianna stepped back and picked up a small hand mirror from the chamber’s vanity.

Hesitantly she stepped back and her mistress waved her along.

The pale Druchii’s hand stopped waving as soon as she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Lady Naguii began grumbling lowly. The grumble rose into a growl as she pushed the mirror away.

Her skin had become as pale and blue as a corpse’s and her cheeks were decorated with small dark veins spidering through her flesh. Her lips were discoloured and darkened too, but her eyes were the most striking.

As Elianna had said the sclera were discoloured and looked like she’d been battered and struck across both eyes, bruised like a boxer… But unlike the worst of a boxer’s injuries, her pupils had changed in colour too; now they had become a dark red almost crimson. Though it unnerved her more that this colour shifted as her pupils adjusted to light and focused. Rather than crimson they became a light rose.

“Gah!” she exclaimed in revulsion, “Where’s Titos?”

Elianna returned the mirror to the table and bowed, “Your lord husband is outside, he’s b-been drinking since the Death-Hag left…”

Lady Naguii nodded and wearily extended her hand once more.

Elianna regarded the limb with confusion and horrified surprise.

“W-what? You can’t possibly wish to rise from bed now my lady!”

Lady Naguii ignored the slave’s words and forced herself to move, dragging her legs from out under the covers and throwing them off the side of the bed. She held her breath and winced with every movement.

The noble lady was trying to show that she was intent on rising regardless of Elianna’s help or not. And she knew that eventually the younger high-elf would _have to_ help her.

“Please my lady!” Elianna begged, “You need rest, you need food, warmth… that ritual nearly killed you! The Hag told us so herself…”

Nearly falling from the bed Lady Naguii swore as her weakness humbled her rising, “To the pits with the Hags! I… I must… ugh-“

Retching and losing her composure Lady Naguii weakly fell onto her back as Elianna leapt forwards, “Please! I will send for his lordship but you must remain here.”

“You nearly died my lady…” she repeated.

Feeling dizzy and the onset of an excruciating headache behind her eyes Lady Naguii begrudgingly relented.

“Fine,” she whispered, “s-send for him…”

Elianna helped straighten her mistress back into bed and pulled the thick sheets over her frail and discoloured nude frame.

With a nod the high-elf stepped towards the door and opened it, outside she knew was one of the slave children. He’d been posted as an emergency messenger specifically for such an instance as this.

During Lady Naguii’s sleep Elianna hadn’t left her side, and neglected her own dinner and sustenance for fear of abandoning her ‘mother’. She hadn’t realised how long had passed since Julé and Tiana left the room.

Begrudgingly they had other chores to tend to, and neither of them had the skill or know how to assist more than bringing fresh towels, water, and stoking the chamber’s fireplace.

Her sudden arrival and disheveled appearance made the boy’s eyes widen in surprise.

He sat motionless with his mouth tightly pursed as he stared at Elianna.

She furrowed her brow in confusion, as her voice roared “Send for his lordship!”

The slave boy blinked but didn’t yet rise from his seat on the floor. Elianna glared at him and growled, “Now boy!”

He nodded and saluted militarily before jumping to his feet and sprinting down the hall; his bare feet loudly slapping against the floor.

Elianna rolled her eyes and exhaled wearily, “He’ll be here shortly my lady,”

Turning back to the room the high-elf saw her mistress and screamed in surprise.

Lady Naguii had risen silently and walked the whole breadth of the room until she was just a few feet from the high-elf.

Her head hung to one side lazily and her eyes rolled around without purpose as her mouth began to open and a hoarse voice exited.

Elianna fell to the floor in fear and began kicking herself backwards and away from her naked and seemingly-possessed mistress as the words coiled out of her mouth like the metallic scraping of nails across stone.

_“Slaaneshi cultists desire her… the foul pauper-prince shall not have her… But we are remiss…”_

Elianna was panting and brought her hand to her mouth in horror, “M-my l-lady?” she weakly whispered. Lady Naguii’s eyes snapped towards Elianna and her head straightened. The voice answered her, _“Not quite.”_

Elianna frightfully drew a staggered breath and tried standing. “T-then… wha-“

_“Fear not faithful elf, but silence and listen. Foul darkness I see descending upon my blood. But powerless I am to stop it. A pet of Khaine she may be… but I still fear Elianna, I fear…”_

The high-elf shuddered at the sound of her name, but when she realised she wasn’t in immediate danger she furrowed her brow and tried to make sense of the words.

“Is this prophecy or… or, something else? I thought the ritual was finished?”

Lady Naguii’s eyes closed and the voice weakened as it responded “ _Neither… but premonition…”_

Lord Titos loudly began approaching down the hall as the slave boy eagerly led him, the patter of feet was off set; Titos’ boots made a steady clunking rhythm but the boy’s bare soles slapped in a hopping, uneven, off-beat.

Elianna felt spurred on by the noise and threw her fear aside. Stepping towards her mistress, no longer petrified by the voice, she felt strangely encouraged by the scent of magic.

“W-what must we do here?”

Lady Naguii tensed and her expression began to change, she weakened, and her eyes fluttered.

Her voice was now a combination of her own and that of the dark spirit.

“An… enemy… at home, someone is weaving something foul at us. But my heir, she is its’ main _target_ … We must find out whom… She shan’t return if this spell is finished… all my children shall… shall…”

As Titos rounded the corner Lady Naguii faltered and nearly fell, but Elianna leapt forwards again and quickly helped steady and catch her mistress.

“My lady!” she exclaimed.

As soon as he saw his wife standing in such distress Lord Titos too jumped forwards.

“Why in Khaine’s name is she out of bed?!”

Titos immediately looked at Elianna with an expression that he was going to scourge her as soon as his wife was safely laid down.

Lady Naguii blinked and began speaking as if nothing had happened, “I, I just… n-needed to stand dear one… Elianna protested and tried to stop me as best she could but, you know me…”

The highborn winced and smiled weakly, her voice and her breathlessness assured the story’s validity.

Titos’ eyes furrowed in confusion, “W-wha? My dark love, why in all the gods names did you do that?”

Lady Naguii lightly chuckled and then winced again. “I… I was possessed by desire my love…”

Elianna’s eyes shot wide open as she looked up at her mistress, Lord Titos looked away as he helped direct back towards the bed and then Lady Naguii smirked through her pain at the terrified high-elf.

Easing her back into bed Titos straightened his shirt and then huffed, “Now, are you alright?”

Lady Naguii slowly nodded as the stiff and fearful Elianna drew the thick furs over her once more.

“I am my love… come touch me I shall be made better so.”

She held her thin hand out of the bedding and Titos reached forwards to carefully take it in his.

“I, I must share with you husband...” she stuttered.

He nodded and Lady Naguii looked to her side at their slave, “Elianna, bar the door.”

The high-elf nodded and turned to see two of the slave boys now staring at their masters in the open doorway.

Finally able to excusably let out some of her frustration she raised her hand and threatened to strike the little slaves, punctuating her action she roared, “ _Out!_ Out you little wretches!”

Nodding approvingly Titos cleared his throat and spoke, “Elianna leave us-“

Though Lady Naguii quickly interjected, “No my love… she’s part of this, she is my closest confidant and without her here you will not believe my words.”

Titos looked at his wife and acquiesced, extending his free left hand to beckon the high-elf back into the room.

Elianna bowed her head after she shut the door and she stepped forwards hesitantly as Lady Naguii cleared her throat.

“My love…” she began, “There is good news a plenty from the ritual I had wrought. Yet there is something which is more pressing than all I have foreseen.”

Titos cocked his mouth in confusion, but he quietly listened.

“Our daughter is in peril, more so than her journey necessitates. And; there is foulness at work here… which we must address.”

Titos looked at Elianna and she nodded. He scoffed in disbelief, “What? No. Please, what cack you speak!” he exclaimed.

Lady Naguii tightened her hand in his and her face narrowed, “Listen to me _love,_ we are beset by an unknown enemy wielding magicks. _I have seen it_.”

He recoiled at the sudden turn in his wife’s voice and expression and his surprise allowed her to continue.

“We must make use of our connections and our resources here… I want to know of our children, and we must find out who would have greater cause then envy to wish us such an elaborate harm…”

Titos’ face continued to regard his wife strangely and she finally made mention of it; “Why are you staring at me thus?” she asked.

His voice was level and low, as he carefully formed his words; “The Death-Hag whispered to me a warning before she departed… It made no sense at the time, just the ravings of a madwoman as the hags so often are…”

Lady Naguii leaned backwards, “But?”

Titos nodded, “But… it makes sense now… Far too much sense.”

Lady Naguii coughed and relaxed, “Do you have an idea as to what we should do?”

Titos smirked, “Aye…”

Lady Naguii began a low, weak, chuckle.

“Then let us do it my love…”

Elianna exhaled heavily as her masters exchanged a strange kiss and began plotting.

‘By the gods,’ she thought, ‘I need a break from these people…’

…

“All I’m saying Sir Jean is that we might have been able to make use of the palace’s services for laundering… you didn’t have to dismiss-“

“Silence boy!”

The two Bretonnians were in their guest room, removing their armour and lightly cleaning themselves with the towels by the bath which had been provided for them.

“We clean ourselves quickly, and then we clean our clothes, then our armour.”

The squire silently groaned as he pulled his undershirt from over his head and threw it to the pile of his clothes and discarded tabard.

“We’ve enjoyed too much decadence on this journey so far!” the knight began hastily rubbing his soap suds across his chest with a small cloth before dipping it back into the tub again.

“At least one of us could enjoy the tub though, is all I-“

“Non! I say _non!_ ”

The squire grumbled as he took up his cleaning cloth and began scrubbing himself as well.

“We are to be cleaned and ready for what comes… We are not envoys, we are not courtiers, we are to be _knights_ yes? We have no need for perfumes and for… for attendants.”

‘But it may be nice…’ Jacque mentally complained.

Begrudgingly he numbly repeated what he’d been saying since arriving to the palace, “Yes sir…”

Sir Jean began scrubbing his scar covered arms and groaned as he reached one of his many new bruises.

“I need to make myself ready to meet with the Emir… There are things I must say, expressions required and then we shall speak with Sadalsuud.”

He laughed as he came under his arm, “We…” he repeated, “I meant myself, you shall remain here and clean our armour!”

Jacque dipped his head into the tub and growled under the water before coming back up, dripping “I avowed that wasn’t my fault! Please Sir Jean you cannot keep me punished for what I _didn’t_ do!”

The Knight slowed and then looked over at his young charge.

He exhaled heavily and briefly considered agreeing with his squire, but he pursed his lips.

The journey so far and his age were catching up to him and his voice revealed his overall weariness, “Just do as I have bid Jacque.”

The youth huffed and set to scrubbing his short hair, but the tone of his master sunk in and he paused for a brief moment as he thought about how Jean sounded.

The knight cupped some water and began washing his scruffy and whisker covered face. Regret and pain was etched across his features and he opened his mouth,

“I am sorry my son…” the knight began.

The squire stopped moving and turned to look at his master.

“When we finish this,” the gruff man paused and cleared his throat, “we shall return home.”

Jacque wiped some suds from his eyes and held his breath.

“I should not have taken on this elf as I have…” he trailed off and chuckled hollowly. Sir Jean sounded tired and he washed the soap from his face as he leaned towards the bath and stood pensively.

“We shall see this done and bid Araby _adieu_. It has been too long since we were in Bretonnia.”

Jacque was stiff with surprise, and spoke quietly, “But what of Duke Meroux? Of the tomes, o-our mission?”

Sir Jean shut his eyes.

“The Duke is dead my boy… Lord Lucian told me so.”

Jacque’s eyes widened and memories of his jovial and pleasant liege-lord came back to him in a flurry.

“D-dead?” he repeated.

The knight nodded, “aye.”

“I told Lord Lucian; after we see our duty done here that we shall return to Bretonnia directly.”

Seemingly ignoring Sir Jean’s words the squire asked, “H-how did he… pass?”

Sitting on the edge of the bath’s steps Sir Jean nodded and spoke, “Age it seems. His son has taken his place. Naturally we must pledge ourselves to his service in person.”

Jacque stood for several seconds motionless and quiet.

“So our mission… the tomes, the price paid. It was all for naught?”

Sir Jean shook his head, “No my boy, they shall still go to their intended master, there is nothing which ought to irritate us…”

Jacque dipped his white capped head into the tub and washed the soap from his hair, “Okay then… Returned to Britonnia…”

Sir Jean nodded, and clarified, “Home.”

Jacque cringed internally, ‘ _Home?_ What home… a hovel, choleric siblings, dead father and dying mother?’

His memories soured as he began to remember the wet spring that his family died. He was just a few years old at most… He could walk on his own and speak a few words, but he had no wits to see understand what had transpired.

He shook his head as he recollected, ‘I met Sir Jean and that is all… Bretonnia is home yes. That place is not…’

Finding his voice he spoke up, “So Lord Farris, is now the new Duke Meroux?”

Sir Jean nodded, “It looks that way my boy.”

The squire began drying his head, “Well… I doubt he’s the most bookish of men. Hopefully he’ll appreciate the tomes none the less.”

Sir Jean smirked at his squire’s wit and chuckled loudly in surprise, Jacque enjoyed a smile himself and the two laughed together as if they were father and son.

When Sir Jean had finished he dried his face and nodded, “I hope so as well.”

…

Miles from Blacklight Tower, in the rolling moors south of the walled town sat the Kalinside estate.

The black stone building was a fortified manor house, and had several towers at each end of its three main wings. Its grounds were surrounded with thick garden walls and defensible ditches, which all together would allow the company of Kalinside guardsmen quartered there to put up a prepared fight in the event of a rival attack on the family’s seat.

But despite all this, the manor wasn’t exactly a castle.

Though wealthy and of the Druchii nobility, like the Naguii, the Kalinsides were not about to receive a licence to crenellate, either from the noble council of Blacklight Tower, or the nearest Drachau who resided in Karond Kar, and so far there hadn’t been any real reason to risk being flayed alive for building such a ‘loud’ display as a castle to draw the Witch King’s law.

Blacklight Tower was relatively stable; it was a small town, and so not a tempting target for any great intrigue, or high games. Its few powerful families lived in equilibrium…

But if there were those plotting against the Naguii and entertaining dark magicks to bewitch and set upon their youngest daughter…

Then Titos was more than willing to ‘upset’ this equilibrium.

Blood from familial feuding hadn’t stained the cobble streets in decades; perhaps it was time for this to change?

So Lord Titos began courting, sending out his feelers and tendrils to probe and gather support and information.

His first mark would be that of the Kalinsides.

Similar in size and beginnings to the Naguii, Titos considered their house a potential ally and a valuable source of informants.

They controlled the majority share of the town’s dockyards and shipping rights, and so would doubtless have had some whiff of the treachery which Lady Naguii’s vision had warned her of. But if not, they certainly would know where to ask, and who to squeeze.

Coincidentally one of the family’s number, Jaylish Kalinside, was a relation of Raveres’ and before she’d left on her Hakseer voyage she’d made mention of the young noble to her father.

In her absence he’d made overtures to the young man and met with him on several occasions.

Mostly these meetings were casual, to flirt at a closer partnership between the two families, but also to prospect as to the potential returns that Titos could expect from Araby.

Jaylish, when plied with drink and Lord Titos’ eloquence, fell under the elder’s charisma and revealed the high sums and healthy interest he could hope to expect on his daughter’s return.

Of course Titos never revealed that Araby was where Raveres had gone.

He skillfully kept any important details close to his chest, while the more unexperienced Jaylish unwittingly let slip much of his family’s business. Nothing major, but of course it didn’t take Titos long to fill in the blanks and make his own theories.

After finishing their scheming with the occasional input of Elianna, Titos and Lady Naguii draughted a letter and set one of the household guards to deliver it into the hands of the head of the Kalinsides…

Just how the elder Druchii would react to the carefully worded proposal would keep the two Naguii in suspense for the rest of the day.

Bidding his rider well and slapping the hindquarters of the mount Titos looked on as his armoured guardsman tore down the cobblestone street and out the town gates.

…

Lord Raykar ‘Dread-spear’ Kalinside was a positively ancient Druchii and he looked it.

His head was bald in the center and at the fore of his scalp while the back and sides still grew, and it grew long.

This hair he still had descended to the floor and dragged when he walked around his grand estate. His nails had maintained themselves almost a full inch from the ends of his fingers and they were thick and curled like wild, sharp, talons, yellowed by smoke and infrequent washing.

His face was wrinkled and his beard was scraggily, with wiry hairs that turned and bent in every direction.

His nose was long and hooked downwards from a bad break in his youth, and what was once a handsome feature had bloated and swollen from years of wine and a poor diet.

He wasn’t fat, but he certainly wasn’t the imposing general he once was.

Lord Kalinside wasn’t a high ranking or particularly important general, nor was he one that had been done away with for ineptitude.

In fact Lord Kalinside achieved a victory far beyond the likes of the most exemplary of the Witch King’s Drachaus:

He did enough to remain relatively unknown, yet he maintained enough clout to keep his head. His men followed him and he brought sufficient victories, though he never made himself appear as if he desired to challenge the existing echelons of the Black Court. So by the graces of the strange and ever-mysterious gods he had retired.

He was once a towering figure, standing almost two heads taller than the average Druchii, Raykar Kalinside bed many women and was prolific in his lusty accomplishments. He could lift great weights, and he had a diet consisting mainly of boar and other game which he’d hunt himself.

Though it wasn’t because of his handsomeness that he was allowed to retire; many decades ago, in a pitched battle nearer the end of his career, he had broken his leg, and that spelled the end of his looks.

Hobbled by a lance in battle the wound had never healed correctly and the bone had also never been re-set properly. Spurning attendant doctors, and field healers he nearly allowed the wound to fester, but cleaved the gangrenous flesh away himself.

Suffice it to say from that point on the general was subsequently never without pain. That pain made him turn to drink, and the resulting combination of the injury, his age, and his love of wine and ale made his Drachau finally release him from command.

Back home, with no wars to fight and no enemies to meet Raykar fell victim to the bottle.

And the bottle won every bout; his hair became sickly and brittle before falling out. His muscles deteriorated and became useless, his face aged by centuries, and his skin, once clear and blemish-less, became red and pimple-ridden.

But before he became a repulsive wretch he had succeeded in siring a clutch of progeny by two wives. His first wife died in childbirth, and with her departure he became far colder.

His second wife, a more economical match than anything, was from a small and nearly destitute family. Her marriage to him secured their survival and in return gave him some clout, and more children.

Though since his return home his second wife barely interacted with her wine-sodden, and pain ridden husband, but he couldn’t care less.

Any spark in his second marriage had long since expired, and he had further exacerbated this rift by siring numerous bastards and half-breeds with harlots and slaves.

In the last few years, as his eldest children began reaching maturity and returned from their ‘Hakseer’ trials with great success, he’d become rabidly paranoid.

He wouldn’t allow any slave to shave him, or groom him in any way. He was only ever alone when he went to the lavatory, and even then his bodyguards stood right beside the door and Raykar himself was constantly armed.

No one could approach him without getting close to any of his bodyguards.

Each of his household guardsmen was a loyal veteran from his previous command, expert swordsman, and he made sure to assure their continued loyalty and devotion with ample coin.

He wasn’t going to give up his role as the Kalinside ‘Paterfamilias’ easily.

…

Sitting in his solar Raykar looked out his thin window off the balcony of his country estate and towards the rolling hills of the wild and harsh land which constituted his demesne.

“My lord?” a servant asked.

He turned and nodded to the short, black dressed, Druchii chamberlain.

“I bear a letter, just delivered from the Naguii family.”

The elder elf furrowed his wrinkled brow, “Whereby?”

“A rider, a-horse. It seems a personal dispatch my lord.” The servant responded as he held out the sealed parchment.

Reaching for the thin letter Raykar cleared his throat and asked, “Is he still on the grounds?”

The servant nodded, “Aye, he expressed that it was his lord’s request to receive a reply today…”

Raykar narrowed his eyes at the servant as he continued

“I told him that ‘my lord is busy, and a reply may not be so forthcoming’.”

The Druchii noble nodded approvingly, “Yes, yes. And?”

The servant paused, “He said that he’d wait as long as was necessary…”

Lord Kalinside bubbled with discomfort and rubbed his disabled leg, “Gah! What impudence… Sounds like a Naguii!”

He looked down at the sealed parchment and glared at the wax insignia. With a quick rip he opened and unfolded the letter.

“Dear… blah blah, platitudes, platitudes… Blah…” he narrated.

Leaning back in his seat he rubbed his leg harder and then reached for his ever-nearby cup of wine.

After a long sip he finished reading the letter and threw it back to the servant.

“All that for a possible business venture? Dark Mother’s cunt…”

He shut his eyes and rubbed the greasy eyelids.

“Tell the messenger he may report back to his lord…”

He stopped mid-sentence and groaned loudly as he tried to straighten his bowed leg.

At the door of the solar one of his younger sons entered, “Father there’s a messenger downstairs…”

Grumbling and rising from his chair to stretch his legs the lord loudly responded, “I know that boy! I’m giving my reply now.”

The elder then pointed to the servant who held the open letter and the son nodded and made a disappointed; ‘oh’.

“Anyway, you can tell him that I would be interested to hear it from his mouth. If he wants what he seems to be suggesting… then the coward can bloody well ask me in person.”

The servant nodded, but hesitated as he spoke, “V-verbatim, my lord?”

With a roll of his dark eyes the lord lunged forwards and smacked the servant on the ear, “What do you think?”

Dodging a second hit while walking backwards the servant nodded, “Aye! I’ll tell him immediately!”

When the servant was away the young Kalinside looked back at his father with a quizzical expression. His father begrudgingly narrated and filled in his son.

“The Naguii… Lord Titos, he seeks to ‘entertain the possibility of joint business, and aligned relations between our houses’.”

Raykar laughed and sat back down as he rubbed his leg.

Sipping from his cup he sighed.

“I fought with him a few times…” he reminisced.

His son nodded while taking a deep breath, ‘here comes ‘war stories’ the young man thought.

“Brutal commander… Never maintained the respect of his men, he’d volunteer for the vanguard, always…” Raykar emptied his cup. “He’d get a lot of men killed that way, but no one could dispute his prowess…”

He furrowed his wiry eyebrows and looking into his empty wine glass. Under his breath he asked himself, “Or was that his brother?”

Crows loudly cawed outside the open window and he looked up as he continued, “In any case, they’re jumped up provincials; the Naguii… Ha… Want’s to act like he’s going to sire a Drachau and receive a personal summons to the Black Court.”

Putting the empty glass onto his desk he looked up at his son and began scrutinising the boy’s face.

“So what do you think he wants from us?” The boy had a little more courage than sense and hoped his father was taken with the wine enough to answer truthfully for once.

The boy was wrong.

“ _Us?_ ” Raykar repeated.

His voice turned and he grew louder.

“Me! What he wants from _me!_ ”

The young man averted his eyes and tried interjecting before his father became too irate.

“I only meant that… Allies are good to have and if the Naguii wanted to align with us we might make use of such a-“

Raykar glared at his son and the young man silenced.

The wine sodden brain of the retired general began racing, he could only see the negative interpretations of what his son had said and in the back of his mind a foul voice whispered a reminder that he could trust no one, not even his blood.

“So… you’ve been corresponding with them haven’t you?” he began.

Immediately the boy’s eyes widened and he raise his hands in defense.

“No! No father! I have not!”

“If not you then it must have been one of my other vile spawn! Eh? Why now? Why would these fools write to me _now_? If not because of some one’s prompting!”

The young man stepped away from his father and looked at the guards in terror.

Sensing his desire to flee Raykar pointed at his son and spat, “Get from my sight before I feed you to my Nauglir!”

The boy nearly tripped over his boots as he scrambled to run out of the room, watching his own son flee in fear from him made Raykar chuckle lowly and madly.

Sitting back down he went to grab his wine glass before realising and remembering that it was empty. Groaning in frustration he snapped his fingers and yelled “Wine!”

One of his slaves who stood at mute attention outside his solar appeared in the doorway and bowed.

It was a human female. She was scantily clad in tattered, rough spun, rags; her blouse seemed to have been purposefully sewn asymmetrically; so that no matter how she wore the garment the off centred neckline exposed one breast or the other. Her bottoms were thankfully better made, but still had rips and tears in the thin fabric, mostly from Lord Raykar himself.

“Wine; anything Bretonnian if it’s there.”

The slave bowed her head and stepped back out of the solar.

“These children of mine… they’re planning something, and I’m sure, somehow Titos is involved.”

He mumbled to himself and rubbed his leg until the slave returned.

She carried the bottle under her arm and a corkscrew in her right hand.

Raykar watched as she unsealed the bottle and then poured a small amount into his glass.

He nodded and watched carefully as she sipped and swallowed a small amount of the wine.

She stood still, nervously staring at the ground.

When Raykar was satisfied she’d not been poisoned he waved her ahead to fill his cup. “Leave the bottle there.”

She nodded and bowed, before meekly speaking “The cooks say that your lordship’s dinner is nearly ready.”

He nodded and licked his lips while the slave uncomfortably avoided his gaze.

She shook and nervously cleared her throat, “If that is all, my lord?”

She half turned and was about to leave when he shook his head. His voice was guttural and curt,

“Guards out… Come here girl. My leg aches.”

…

Though she was just cleaned Raveres chest had several beads of sweat slowly dibbling down her breasts and abdomen.

She groaned and threw her head backwards with a subdued grunt and moan.

The servant was resistant, and tried to fight her at first, but eventually Raveres succeeded in bringing the human around to fulfil her bidding.

The human’s darkly tanned, and warm, supple flesh was at the moment pleasurably pressed against her pale ivory. The contact made her open her eyes and look down. Raveres drew a satisfied breath through her teeth as she looked over the sensual contrast of tones.

Her body rippled with a tight and relief-filled sensation and her thoughts became dominated by swearing and the pursuit of yet more pleasure,

‘Oh Dark mother… yes… gods below yes!’

Her voice began to climb and the Druchii loudly exclaimed an orgasmic moan, shamelessly abandoning her decency she grabbed the human’s thin wrist and forced her to press deeper.

The human furrowed her brow in concern as she went along with her guest’s demands and Raveres nodded encouragement for her to continue, adding “Keep at it! Oh Gods yes!”

The slave was pressing her fingers into Raveres’ thigh and kneading her tight and swollen muscles with expert attention.

There was a tight knot a few inches above her knee and at the moment the servant’s thumbs were pressed deeply into the tight and unyielding bump.

Narrowing her eyes and biting her lip Raveres clutched at the cushioning of the bed as the slave pressed as hard as she dared.

It was a beautiful marriage of pleasure and pain… And for the Druchii she delighted in both aspects of the experience almost as much as the bath she just had.

“Ah! Oh fuck!” Raveres exclaimed.

Throwing her head back she spread her arms out and fell onto the bed with a heavy flop, “Finally! Oh the relief… Sweet fucking Khaine…”

She lay for several seconds with her eyes closed, her chest heaving as the slave began massaging out the rest of Raveres’ left leg.

Moving her way down the limb the servant started to work her fingers into the she-elf’s calf and smirked at the moan which it elicited from its owner.

“Ughhh oh, yes… t-there you little s-sluttt…”

Raveres slowly rose back to a sitting position and her sore abs crunched and rippled as the small drops of sweat ran towards her pelvis.

The slave smiled and Raveres exhaled tiredly while nodding.

Looking on with barely restrained pleasure the Druchii nodded profusely as the slave cupped her foot and began squeezing her heel.

“Oh gods… fuck me… th-that’s it! Fuck a bride of Khaine, that’s sooo sore… I didn’t even _know…_ ”

Her eyes rolled back as she pursed her lips and grunted.

The servant re-wet her hands with ointment and began skillfully and tightly giving attention to each of Raveres’ toes.

“I think I’m going to die… that’s it! This is how I’m going to die!”

Raveres cooed and threw herself back again as she let out a long and loud groan.

The servant tried her best not to laugh but continued on with her work, quietly giggling as she moved over to the other leg.

When the human was finally finished Raveres loudly moaned and stretched out her arms.

Her body was exhausted now and all she desired was sleep, but she had to dress and she was expected to appear at the Emir’s court…

“Gods…” she complained.

The servant rose from the end of the bed and tried to draw Raveres’ attention to a small chest.

The Druchii looked up and raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

Opening the small, rather plain, wooden box, the slave took hold of what was within and began pulling it upwards. As it unfurled and descended Raveres scoffed in surprise.

…


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadalsuud eases into his new role, Raveres and co. enter the court, and Captain Annio makes a fateful decision.

 

Content warning: It is rated M for a reason, Boils and Ghouls.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Twelve

The slave held up a darkly coloured violet dress, it was of the Arabyan style which Raveres had become visually familiar with so far in Al Daouk.

The she-elf rose from her position on the bed slowly and waved the servant to bring the clothing closer.

Furrowing her brow Raveres took some of its material into her hands and let it fall through her fingers. The soft silken cloth was cool to the touch and rippled in the light like a deep pond.

“More gifts from Sadalsuud no doubt…” she remarked aloud.

The slave nodded slightly at the tone of the Druchii’s voice.

She didn’t know what to make of the dress and Raveres pursed her lips in thought as she pushed off the bed and stood.

“Well then, I suppose I ought to accept. Not like I may appear in those rags I came here in.”

Raveres stepped past the chest and away from the bed as she held her arms out and took up a t-pose.

Raising an eyebrow and cocking her head at the servant she punctuated herself and raised her voice, “Come on then!”

The slave nodded and her eyes widened in embarrassment as she came forwards with the clothing.

Making an ‘oh’ sound the slave turned back and stooped to pick up an additional article from out of the bottom of the lined box.

The first thing looked like a simple scrap of black-dyed material rather than an actual piece of clothing but when she held it closer to Raveres the servant nodded and indicated that the Druchii was to take it.

“If I’m to be dressed you are the one to-“

She stopped when she took hold of the material. Raveres knew what it was but she’d never seen such a type of undergarment before.

It was for her lower body, but it looked almost unfinished… like the weaver had left threads uncut and hanging loosely from the end product. Upon closer inspection Raveres saw that the threads were actually an intricately hand woven floral pattern.

It was soft to the touch and was overall strange to her. Any undergarments she had worn previously were utterly plain and utilitarian. They were for covering her sex and keeping uncomfortable chafing of her trousers to a minimum: that was it.

But these?

“These are not functional in the least!” she complained. Narrowing her eyes she looked at the slave, “What am I supposed to do with these?”

The servant girl’s expression paled and she hesitated, still no more fluent in Druhir then the last time Raveres spoke to her.

Rolling her eyes the Druchii waved while muttering, “Ugh, never mind…”

Lowering the underwear Raveres stepped one foot into the garment after the other and pulled it up along her skin.

_It was soft…_

Her eyes widened slightly and she paused when it reached her thighs.

‘It’s _impossibly soft!_ ’ she thought.

The material was cool against her flesh and when it was finally against her pelvis and the sensitive skin of her mound she could feel the air through the garment as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

She scoffed and laughed involuntarily in disbelief before beginning to look herself over.

The dark of the material made her pale flesh even lighter.

The slave stood and looked on awkwardly, averting her eyes and waiting for her guest to give her permission to approach.

Raveres took a few steps around in a circle, her head bent down, watching herself walk, cooing at the softness of the material between her legs.

“It… it feels like nothing at all?” she remarked, she laughed and turned to look at her own backside.

The muscles of her buttock were seemingly complemented by the clothing and she couldn’t help but soften from her initial reaction and she admitted, “I… I actually like these.” with a girlish smile.

Though she didn’t allow her vanity to take hold and Raveres wiped away her smile as she cleared her throat. Beckoning the slave forwards and posing with her arms outstretched the human began helping direct the muscly elvish arms into the dark material.

‘I wonder what Sadalsuud means with this exceedingly generous show of hospitality.’

She narrowed her eyes and continued to think, “He’s almost proud in his lavishing of gifts…’

Raveres took in a breath through her nose and tilted her head up, ‘I hope he will be as forthcoming with aid in hunting that Estalian down.’

…

“My Lord?”

Sadalsuud raised an eyebrow and turned to face the eunuch attendant.

“Yes?” he responded.

“Many are waiting entrance to the court.”

The round Arabyan nodded and exhaled nervously.

Wick’tus stepped beside him and spoke, “The Emir-Regent shall begin receiving supplicants.”

Sadalsuud was sitting on a raised chair in front of the steps of his brother’s vacant throne.

The chamber was already quite populated with servants, guards, and a few of the important officials of the Emirate, but the new regent was well aware that it was about to be filled with people…

Sadalsuud had made his oath, cut his finger, and Wick’tus had sealed the declaration of the regency.

His brother Hashan was, naturally, not informed and had been quietly locked away in his tower and large personal chambers. His servants and closest guards were all sworn to secrecy and had vowed to keep him in both comfort and ignorance, until he showed signs of recovery.

The official story relayed to those few at the top of the small city’s officials was that the Emir was seeking special treatment and asked his brother to step in.

To the rest of the court the story was that the Emir desired peace and his brother would be acting in his stead until he returned.

In either case it was to be made abundantly clear; Sadalsuud was now in charge.

Quietly sensing his apprehension and anxiety Wick’tus leaned to his lord’s ear and whispered; “Fear not my young lord. Just remember they fear _you_ more than you fear them.”

He nervously smiled and nodded, his great turban glinting in the torchlight before a thought came to him,

“Oh!” he exclaimed, “The Master of Tongues? Has he been sent to my guest; the Druchii?”

Wick’tus cleared his throat and looked up as the doors to the audience chamber opened. Quietly he responded, “Yes indeed my lord… I am told that they’re being led to her chamber as we speak.”

Sadalsuud smiled to himself and whispered, “Excellent… As I hold the court, make sure to send for my guests. I wish them to be introduced to much mystery and envy.”

Wick’tus nodded and snapped his fingers at a servant who stood against the wall to their left.

The tanned and handsomely dressed man dashed forwards.

Sensing mischief in Sadalsuud’s mind the aged Vizier warned, “Please do not play with the courtiers too much my lord… Whatever you’re intending you must remember there is serious work to be done.”

The round merchant-prince nodded, “Yes, yes. But there are a few in attendance today who I must…” he stopped and bowed his head in acknowledgement as nobles and aristocrats began entering the chamber, each one was introduced loudly by the court-herald.

“… I must show up.”

Wick’tus rolled his eyes and whispered the regent’s command to the servant; “Send for Lord Sadalsuud’s guests, see to it that they are clean and presentable to the court… Dress them in additional finery if necessary.”

The servant nodded.

Wick’tus hushed his words as he continued, “His lordship wishes to dazzle and to intrigue them in equal measure… Tell them to bear their weapons, and for the Bretonnians that they may wear their colours.”

The servant bowed deeply and stepped away from the throne as he made for the side alcoves of the chamber.

Making sure to say it before he passed from earshot and he had to become louder Wick’tus added, “No armour!”

The servant nodded in understanding and quickly made his way out of the chamber and past the steady stream of nobles being admitted to the high hall.

The herald announced the entry of two lavishly dressed nobles with his trademark singsong voice; “Their esteemed lordships Da’rouk Al Shabad, and Na’nouk Al Shabad.”

The twin brothers smiled to Sadalsuud and bowed deeply.

Wick’tus skilfully whispered through his beard, years of practise at such action made it appear like he was a ventriloquist and neither his lips nor his beard moved in the slightest as he imparted information to Sadalsuud.

“Those two are newly arrived to the city; they’re making quite a name for themselves among the people… I expect them to approach you as soon as they are able with requests. Be wary my lord.”

Sadalsuud did his best to mask his trepidation but he already felt weary and he hadn’t even been regent for five hours let alone a full day…

‘I know it will all be better when I gaze upon my Druchii.’

Sadalsuud smirked under his beard at his thought, ‘ _my Druchii…’_

He raised a brow while greeting the stream of nobles and courtiers as he wondered; ‘Could I even possess her?

His mind began to race as he imagined; ‘As the acting Emir anything might just be possible!’ his chest became excited as he daydreamed, ‘Can the slaver be enslaved? Can a man catch the darkness of smoke?’

He chuckled quietly. ‘What if I actually can have her? She’d be like a cloudy diamond among my emeralds and rubies.’ His private laugh escalated as his poetic mind continued, ‘A white raven amidst peacocks...’

Wick’tus ever so carefully nudged Sadalsuud and he straightened in his seat, raising his hand in acknowledgement of yet another entering diplomat.

…

Mariana was unevenly swaying from side to side as the ship sailed along. She was in the captain’s quarters and she stood with her eyes looking out a small porthole at the choppy and rolling waves to their starboard.

Her stomach rumbled and she felt revulsion seep through her limbs.

She clutched at her abdomen and fell forwards to her knees.

It wasn’t seasickness which had gripped her.

It was corruption.

Her flirtation with ruinous powers was beginning to tighten its grip within her flesh, and at the moment it was flexing its hold over her.

Whatever part of her previous self which remained was still fighting to remain in her body, to try and persist in the mortal realm, but her insanity and sickness ridden mind was looking forwards to be rid of it.

Suffice it to say the struggle deep within her guts was the collision of these two forces.

When the rolling waves of nausea and darkness subsided somewhat she reeled and whispered to herself.

‘My god, am I strong enough yet? What more must be done to sway these _stupid_ hunks of flesh to execute my bidding?’

Above deck the captain Annio could be heard over the occasional splash of the waves; he directed his men with his characteristically confident voice and the populated surface of the ship would loudly respond in unison to his orders.

Mariana felt the pain in her twisted stomach finally melt away and she was able to take a full breath.

She looked up at the ceiling of ribbed beams and wooden timbers; and she could almost hear the captain’s footfalls right above her.

She smirked.

And something called her name.

It wasn’t quite a voice which spoke to her, but instead a strange inclination. A desire towards something which seemed to spell out what more she had to do.

To which replied aloud, “Then it will be done…”

Rising from her knees she looked at her right hand and smirked.

‘Killing, fucking… both?’ she laughed and felt her muscles pulse with supernatural eagerness.

“Tonight I will have him… and I will finally make him do as I wish.”

She whispered her thoughts aloud and felt a reassuring presence which could only be that of her dark patron god.

Walking towards the captain’s bed she shed her stolen Druchii dress and bore her skin as she descended into the sheets.

‘ _The prince of pleasure…’_ she cackled and sighed as her body became steady and she felt invigorated.

Rolling over and wrapping herself in the bedding she closed her eyes and began humming happily.

“Estalia…” she smiled.

“I wonder who the princes and dukes are now, or will the city not have changed since I was last there?”

Images of the grand port of her youth came back to her and Mariana began visualising the streets that she could remember best, the people she had known. Not many of them were _good_ people but a few of their number had set her on her current path and she could see the faces of those whom had introduced her to chaos, the dark powers, and unholy rites.

‘To which I am forever grateful…’ she rubbed a hand over her breasts and felt her heartbeat, ‘Slaanesh…’

She smiled and spoke aloud, “The prince of pleasure…”

With a private laugh she began to think, “How ought the captain to serve me?” she felt her ribs through her skin and counted them as a strange habit of hers.

Her voice cooed and she playfully asked, “Would his death please you, or his murder?”

She laughed awkwardly, “ _Orgasm_ I meant to say… ha! Oh silly m-” She stopped and sat up straight. “There it is!”

Her verbal slip and subconscious repetition must have been a sign.

She nodded and threw her head and hair back with a flick.

“There’s my answer indeed.”

She looked over the edge of the bed at her discarded dress and thought of the blade which was stashed within.

“ _Murder it is then._ ”

…

When she was finally dressed Raveres took a moment to look herself over in the hand mirror which the slave held for her.

She turned from side to side as she examined her reflection.

With a quiet shake of her head she nodded to the slave that she was done.

The human servant had carefully combed and groomed Raveres’ hair, helping to braid some of it into a pony tail which sat high at the back of her head while her fringe and sides were brushed back and behind her long, elf-tip, ears.

During the hairdressing the human servant had stared with fascination for several moments at the strangely shaped cartilage. Raveres narrowed her brow at the human and shot a displeased look after which the human quickly finished her work.

When her hair was in place the servant apprehensively used a washcloth to rub and clean the golden studs in the base of each of the Druchii’s long ears until they shone properly.

At the end of it all the slave stepped backwards bowing her head and reaching for the hand mirror indicating that she was finally finished pampering Raveres.

Looking down the Druchii raised an eyebrow inquisitively as she looked over the dark material of her new clothes. The dress clung to her body and proudly accentuated her feminine shape.

Her earlier assumptions that it was going to be a loose fitting article were soundly rebuffed.

The V of the neckline ended a few inches below her collarbones and the dark colour of the dress helped to frame and accentuate her pale skin.

Despite the hooded riding cloak she had worn for the majority of her time in the sun her neck and face showed signs of tanning. Her flesh from the bottom of the V-neck to her fringe covered forehead had gradually gained some colour. Thankfully no burns…

‘Yet.’ she prayed.

Though not to embellish this gradation she still remained the palest creature in the whole city.

However Raveres was thankful that the line of the neck wasn’t so deep that her cleavage would be completely on display.

The thought of her showing so much skin to the men of the court, especially Sadalsuud, made her shiver with revulsion. Since these clothes were his gifts to her, she was weary of what he was possibly planning by this generosity.

As the slave moved forwards she offered to tie a silken harness of sorts around Raveres’ waist. It had short thick material sheath and the she-elf quickly recognised it as a sword belt.

“I’ll take that.” She spoke.

Though unable to comprehend the words the slave understood what she had meant and Raveres tied the belt herself and picked up her blade, sheathing the weapon herself gave her a great feeling of confidence.

When she was finished the servant offered the Druchii simple Arabyan slippers.

Raveres smiled and bared her teeth in innocent glee. “Finally!” she declared.

The slave lowered and began directing the Druchii’s small feet into the black footwear and helped adjust them to fit.

She was now, clean, dressed, and with shoes of her own. Raveres smirked and walked a few paces before chuckling.

There was a rap at the door and the servant rose to open it. Instinctively Raveres brought her left hand to rest on her sword’s hilt, silently cooing at the ability to do such a familiar move.

The servant parted the door and the Druchii saw a curious looking human standing in the open arch.

When he first saw Raveres he coughed and immediately shook his head nervously before stuttering in Druhir, “M-my lady… I-“

He drew a breath and straightened his back before looking back at her, “I am Yurin, court Master of Tongues.”

Raveres stepped forwards as she straightened her neck and eyed the man.

He became more flustered and avoided her gaze.

“L-lord Sadalsuud has instructed me; that I am not to leave your side.”

She stepped towards the door and Yurin backed up.

The young man was tall and thin. But his face and features almost indescribable for Raveres. She stepped through the doorway and began circling him, looking him over with interest.

His hair was dirty blonde and trimmed short. His eyes were watery green and his complexion was light. He was no Arabyan, yet he had none of the aquiline or characteristic features of a Bretonnian.

His nose was small and his face rounded, his shoulders and body was rather thin, but his face and skin exuded life.

As she inspected him predatorily the human stared ahead and spoke nervously; “I speak t-twenty languages and d-dialects,”

He coughed as Raveres came around his back and out of his peripheral vision. “Among them I know Druhir, Reik-speak, and that of Ulthuan, in addition to many unwritten tribal languages.”

Continuing with his self-appraisal he boasted, “Also I can read and write in fifteen languages, both living and dead.”

His accent was somewhat stilted, and his voice quivered with unfamiliarity as he spoke the Druhir words.

When Raveres came around in front of him she raised her brow in disbelief, “You’re far too young for such skills. I’d expect you to be a wearied old sage like that bearded vizier.”

He bowed his head and hid a guilty smile, “I avow that I am recently promoted… But I’ve been trained and instructed since I-“

She raised her hand and silenced him, “What do you know of my people?”

His eyes met hers and his lip quivered.

“Only what I’ve learned off traders from Ulthuan, and… the like.”

“So you know what a Druchii would do if they were made to look a fool?”

His expression froze and his mouth closed as he nodded. She leaned backwards and stretched her arms to her sides, “You are to serve me?”

He nodded furiously, “Y-yes! That is correct, ‘in any and all capacity’ lord Wick’tus had said.”

Raveres made a curt ‘hmph’, “Well _Yurin_ master of tongues, why have I been gifted you now? Your presence would have been useful before my bath I assure you…”

Raveres looked over her shoulder at the tanned female slave who bowed her head.

“Of course” he exclaimed, though the idea of the Druchii before him in a state such as bathing made him even more inarticulate.

“My apologies, but… I was making ready, and just earlier Lord S-Sadalsuud requests…” he swore under his breath as he restarted, flustered and uncoordinated, “I’ve arrived to extend my lords request for you and your companion’s presence at court, n-now.”

To their side at the other end of the hall Raveres could see another servant leading Sir Jean and Jacque down the bend back to the palace’s entrance.

The Bretonnian knight raised his sword arm and hailed a non-verbal greeting as the two made eye contact.

The squire adjusted his tabard and grinned happily to see her again.

Raveres nodded her head in acknowledgement at the Bretons she answered the servant’s words, “Very well then…”

Without waiting for the flustered human to lead her, the Druchii took a breath and strode forwards down the hall.

Yurin stepped after her, “N-now far be it from me t-to presume-“

The Druchii exhaled and interrupted the young courtier again, “Yurin?”

He nodded and responded quietly, “Yes?”

“For a ‘Master of Tongues’ you’re rather poor at elocution, let alone etiquette.” She smiled and Yurin gulped noiselessly in fear, “and if you continue to stutter, Sadalsuud is going to need to find _another_ replacement.”

Raveres stopped mid-stride and Yurin nearly ran into her as she turned. With a subdued sadistic smile she extended her arm towards him and took the edge of his chin in her thumb and forefinger.

“What has you so… _inarticulate_?” she smiled knowingly.

“I…” he tried averting his eyes and took another noticeable gulp, she was expecting him to obfuscate, lie, or to otherwise ignore her words. Yet when he continued both his eyes and his voice hid nothing; “I’ve never seen a Druchii before and I’m-” he grunted and cleared his throat, “I’m at your service.”

Raveres furrowed her brow and began holding back a laugh as she let his chin go and turned back around.

Stepping down the hall Yurin’s face reddened as the poor servant followed after her.

When they rounded the corner of the hall Raveres stopped as she saw the crowd of nobles waiting to enter into the audience chamber.

Anxiety coiled around her heart like a snake and the Druchii quailed.

Thinking quickly and before any of the humans could see her apprehension she turned back to Yurin and leant closely towards him, her voice was filled with more urgency than she had wanted.

“I will not be made to look a fool Yurin… I am a noble daughter of Naggarond, and my father a veteran of the Witch King’s armies.”

The servant nodded emphatically at her voice, noticing his fearful expression Raveres forced her shoulders to relax and took a breath as she asked, “Are you a slave?”

He shook his head, “N-no my lady, I’m a freeman.”

She pursed her lips, ‘Low-born, but not a slave. Hmph, regardless… he shall still act as a retainer in the interim.’

“Though a lowborn freeman you may be, my family is nobility, you understand? Yes?”

He nodded and stood still.

“My house is that of the Naguii and these petty humans shall not catch me flat footed.”

She furrowed her brow as Yurin darted his eyes down the hall at the hushing crowd.

What was earlier a loud chorus of chattering and laughing greetings between allies and foes alike had quieted into a mass of whispers and captive eyes.

Raveres looked at the crowd and saw that past Sir Jean and Jacque each of the nobles’ faces were directed at her and every pair of eyes was watching her.

The crowd was predominantly men and some stood transfixed and speechless, some even with their mouths agape at her. Others whispered to their fellows comments about her appearance. The few women in the crowd eyed her with fearful interest, speaking quickly behind their hands or their veils.

Taking a breath and straightening her back she spoke quietly to Yurin.

“What can I expect about the coming moments?”

Quietly Yurin moved to her side, and about a foot behind her, positioning himself best to speak in her right ear.

“Lord Sadalsuud has been declared regent and has just announced it to the court; in addition he has spoken highly of three personal guests of his with whom he has struck a lavish deal.”

She remained cool as the whispers ahead of her continued and she slowly stepped forwards towards Sir Jean and Jacque, issuing a nod of her head as greeting to the pair of Bretons.

“Mmhmm, what else?”

“The nobles who had seen you enter the palace earlier today, as well as the servants… Uh, they’ve begun spinning all sorts of t-tales about a female elf which arrived with the knights.”

Raveres smirked and breathlessly laughed. ‘Sir Jean was right after all…’

Before she could continue recalling what else the knight had said the servant’s Druhir grated on her ears, “As soon as you are formally introduced to the court, there are many who wish to set upon you…”

Yurin cleared his throat quietly, “Out of curiosity, y-you’re not a runaway princess are you? I, I know you’re a Druchii and not from Ulthuan but-“

Raveres’ eyes grew wide and she quickly had to stop herself from making an embarrassing expression in sight of the courtiers, unfortunately a sharp laugh of surprise escaped her lips before she gave Yurin a sidelong look, “I would love to have left it to your imagination as to what I am, but no.”

She looked back ahead and began to stare the crowd down, “I fear you’ve been reading too many romantic poems if you honestly think that.”

Yurin averted his eyes and grunted quietly as he cleared his throat.

Raveres smiled as she came alongside Sir Jean. He bowed his head at the neck in respect and she got to see the knight and squire for the first time clean and presentable:

Sir Jean’s hair sat brushed to one side, his stubble and thick facial hair appeared vigorous and his clothes appeared clean of the dirt and trail dust of the desert.

He wasn’t wearing his pieces of armour or mail and instead had on a plain undyed leather jerkin, in the left hand corner was his personal sigil emblazoned in close stitching. Underneath he had his simple woolen blouse; its sleeves had been rolled up to expose his scarred and bruised forearms.

His eyes and features were tightly composed and showed that he was obviously uncomfortable.

Raveres took some small form of solace in the fact that like her Sir Jean wasn’t all too suited to being among a court.

However she drew much more confidence that she had far more time to perfect and hone her skills than he did.

Beside the knight stood Jacque and the youth’s features had been scrubbed quite clean as well. Though his hair had dried awkwardly and he had a funny cow lick which refused to follow the overall pattern of his brushing.

His eyes darted around eagerly as he experienced all the colours and different people. Surprisingly the young Bretonnian didn’t seem bothered by the onlookers at all.

The youth appeared to have had no change of clothes and was simply wearing his tabard emblazoned with Sir Jean’s colours, though he appeared quite deflated without his mail or armour plates to bulk up his small body.

Seeing him in the billowy and roomy tabard made Raveres realise just how undernourished and thin the youth who had saved her really was. He may not have even been a hundred pounds.

Her earlier sadistic entertainment at Yurin’s expense was suddenly replaced with a strange feeling when she saw the squire. And this was compounded when the boy smiled up at her, meeting her eyes she felt an indescribable sense of sudden sadness.

She wanted to shake her head, to throw such an alien and intrusive feeling out of her body, but she couldn’t risk such an awkward and vulgar display in front of the crowd.

So instead she coldly looked away before stepping past Sir Jean and the boy. Her voice came out far more stern for it, “Yurin, direct me.”

As she went ahead Sir Jean held his left hand to his sword hilt and followed beside the Druchii. Jacque followed suit with his master and placed his left hand on his belt as he followed behind.

The crowd ahead of them began stepping back unsolicited and created a path through which Raveres and her companions could tread.

“Well… uh, right this way my lady.” Yurin declared.

Holding her breath Raveres did her best to exude confidence and pride.

She thought of her family, her parents’ constant lectures, and repeated to herself words of encouragement, almost like a prayer or mantra.

The noblemen around her gawked in surprise, fear, adoration, disbelief, dismay, inadequacy, and nearly every other expression she could name.

And it dawned on her that in this moment she was exceedingly powerful.

Raveres allowed herself a private smile as her chest swelled, her earlier feelings of discomfiture dissolved and were replaced by mounting pride.

As she began to enter between the two sides of the parted crowd she could hear the occasional subdued whisper.

“Yurin?”

The servant nodded and stepped closer, “Yes my lady?”

“You are now mine until I release you. Henceforth you will not hold anything back from me, do you understand?”

She kept her face forwards as she walked, maintaining an even pace. Yurin took several moments before he finally responded.

“Yes…”

“Can you hear them whispering?”

Yurin looked around at the noblemen and could discern only the occasional word.

“Somewhat my lady.”

The four were now nearing the door to the audience chamber and Raveres could see through the crowd to the throne, and nearly full chamber.

“What are they saying?”

The court herald stepped forwards and Raveres was forced to stop.

Yurin whispered quickly, “They all wish to know your name… they wonder who you are, and uh, and they are amiss as to why you’re accompanied by a knight, squire, and” he laughed, “armed.”

Raveres smirked and rolled her shoulders as she took a deep breath. Between her breasts sat, out of sight, her amulet of Khaine.

Feeling its cool steel dig into her flesh ever so slightly made her feel a soothing wave as she confirmed, ‘I am armed indeed.’

The herald addressed her in Arabyan and Yurin nodded while translating, “The herald asks your name so that it may be declared to the Sapphire Court.”

Without missing a beat Raveres looked at the herald with as much malice as she could muster, seemingly insulted that she was not already known. As she spoke her words came out with such an intonation of venom that Sir Jean scoffed at the exemplary display of elvish arrogance.

“We are Raveres Morthai Naguii! Daughter of the Dreadlord Titos, sister to the Dreadlord Legatus, Malith Naguii, we hail from the Druchii kingdom of Naggaroth.”

The herald, someone whose job is dealing with haughty nobles and sycophantic supplicants, immediately felt ashamed. Her voice somehow cut through the man even though he didn’t understand a word of Druhir.

As if she had woven a bewitching spell the onlookers closest to her latched on and listened intensely to every syllable she had spoken and as soon as she finished they began whispering among each other with a renewed ferocity.

When Yurin translated the herald bowed his head somewhat and issued his apologies.

Then he asked the translator Raveres a question.

“What might your title be?”

The Druchii took a moment, she was well drilled and trained in the court protocol and observances of her own country, but she had no idea how to explain it. Before the moment could sour into awkwardness she smiled privately.

She was on her ‘Hakseer’ voyage; her father _was_ a former officer and a Dreadlord… It would never get back to anyone, and even if it did she’d be a real one by then…

Her smile turned into a smirk, “You may address me however ‘ _Dreadlord_ ’ may be translated.”

Yurin’s eyebrow rose and he spoke to the herald nervously.

The tanned and moustached man nodded. With another bow to Raveres he turned and led her into the grand, high domed, throne room.

Speaking in his language he declared her to the court; “Al'amir Alrahib Raveres, Morthai, Naguii-“

He had essentially repeated everything that Yurin had told him.

She moved her elbow to jab into the human and he whispered hastily; “The closest I could come up with to Dreadlord is… uh, Terrible Prince, I-I’m sorry my lady!”

Raveres’ eyes widened, ‘The Terrible Prince?’ she held back her mouth from smiling, ‘I hope only to be worthy of such a splendid title!’

“Excellent work Yurin… I might enjoy use of you yet.”

The young man smiled nervously before furrowing his brow, ‘Wait… what?’

…

The court was awash with whispers as Raveres and her companions stepped forwards through the threshold.

Sadalsuud stood from his chair and began loudly speaking to the court, beaming a smile all the while.

Yurin leaned upwards to Raveres’ ear and translated as quickly as he could.

“My lord says that you and the knight have aided him already… Uh, that you are honoured guests, humble representatives of your powerful families or, or liege-lord in the knights case,”

Raveres reached the middle of the chamber and stopped a few feet from Sadalsuud’s raised seat.

“He says that you are all personal guests of his and that any poor conduct directed towards you will be answered for swiftly and justly…” Yurin paused.

Out the corner of her mouth the Druchii egged the young man on, “And? What else… don’t stop now.”

“He’s being rather p-poetic…”

The crowd murmured and spoke several whispers.

Raveres looked out the corners of her eyes as she whispered, “ _What. Is. He. Saying?_ ”

Yurin cringed, as he looked away from the gesticulating Sadalsuud.

“He’s talking at length about you… He’s so far described the first time he saw you, though he’s not saying anything explicit here he is… uh, well.”

Raveres stole a quick glance at the blonde man and he cleared his throat, “He’s making plain his ‘interest’ in you… His tone and his language are such as to dissuade others from, approaching you somewhat, or at least in a particular way…”

‘Oh Dark Mother,’ she complained while rolling her eyes.

…

Sir Jean and Yurin assisted Raveres in observing the etiquette Arabyan court, and when Sadalsuud finally finished he allowed them to ‘mingle’ with the rest of the courtiers.

The volume of the room began to pick up once Raveres chose a side to walk towards and then the nobles did one of two things; they either lined up and began petitioning or showing submission to Sadalsuud, or they set upon the Druchii and her companions.

…

Elbowing his way to stand in front of Raveres was a tall, swarthy, muscular, and cleanly shaven man. His light sun-bleached hair flowed down the sides of his head, framing his chiseled and masculine features.

He began speaking over the others and locked eyes with the Druchii, forcibly capturing her attention.

The man was dressed in white silks and yellow slippers, with a small curved golden dagger nestled into the sash-belt across his waist.

Yurin translated as Raveres raised an eyebrow and listened with interest.

Beside her Sir Jean was in conversation with an equally grizzled and equally uncomfortable looking Arabyan warrior.

The two appeared kindred spirits and began sharing smiles and the occasional jest; however Raveres noticed that the knight never lost sight of her for long. He’d pay attention to his fellow soldier as they talked, but then he’d do a quick survey of those surrounding her, before ending his ocular patrol by returning to her.

The translation of Arabyan to Druhir snapped her attention back to the man before her.

Yurin’s voice was plain and even toned as he conveyed the white-dressed man’s words to Raveres, “This is the Prince Balik. Former ruler of Al’ Qu la… He extends his esteemed greetings to you and your house.”

Raveres hid her confusion as she repeated, “Former?”

Yurin nodded and hastily provided her context, “The Prince was unjustly usurped by his sister, and she now rules his former city and lands. He’s well kn-“

Raveres raised her hand and cut off the servant, “How many people here speak Druhir do you imagine?”

Yurin opened his mouth but she continued and cut him off again,

“Speak plainly, if you are to serve me then you will tell me everything I need to know, and if you lie, I will know of it. So plainly; why does a _former_ prince stand before me thus? He speaks only as if he wants something from me.”

Yurin bowed his head and bowed to Balik before telling Raveres the ‘truth’ at every word the human seemed somewhat uncomfortable to be ‘badmouthing’ a man right in front of him;

“He’s a fool, and now a pauper-prince. His sister is rich, beautiful, powerful, and she has many allies and friends. She’s out-smarted him at every turn, and now he goes from city to city, persisting mainly on the charity of others... Her decree is such that no one may harm him, but none may help him either.”

Raveres furrowed her brow in confusion, “Is this some kind of perverse mercy?”

Yurin steeled himself from showing any sense of humour to Prince Balik or to the other onlookers, “No, it is shame.”

“Ah… Well.”

Turning back to the prince she smiled and bowed her head slightly.

“Tell him we thank him for his words. I lament hearing of his tribulations, but should he wish; I could always make use of him back in Naggaroth, of course this is only should he desire.”

Yurin knew what she _really_ meant but he kept it’s implication to himself and dutifully relayed the information to the Prince.

Balik beamed a smile and bowed reverently as he stepped back from Raveres, turning away he triumphantly raised a fist into the air as he returned to a few of his loyal retainers.

‘He must think I’ve given him my legitimate support…’ Raveres hid her smile.

A few onlookers, Sir Jean, Yurin, and maybe only the most learned in earshot were aware of Druchii and their customs, and knew the horrifying implication of what she had _actually_ offered Balik.

Sir Jean pursed his lips in disapproval at the foul joke but said nothing.

…

The next few who had the courage to approach Raveres did so with barely contained awe.

Nobles and rich merchants alike attempted to flatter and to soothe her. Occasionally she’d make a joke of wit at one’s expense and Yurin did an exceptional job at translating.

Raveres had succeeded in charming those around her; they laughed at her jests, and continued to hang on every word, barraging her with questions and praise.

Raveres occasionally looked to Sir Jean and he nodded knowingly, his expression seemed to say; ‘I told you so.’

At first she was nervous to be surrounded by humans, even though they were her kind of people; nobles and aristocratic oligarchs. But now she had hit her stride.

All the lectures about the family name, of her pride as a Druchii. What she was expected to do as a noblewoman, her mother’s suggestions, her father’s commands… all of it culminated in her newfound attitude.

She was in her element.

Just as surely as she was getting used to the din of arms and the field of battle, the egos and the interactions of ‘high society’ was as strangely familiar to her as if it were the halls of her home, or the lines of her bed.

Sadalsuud occasionally looked over at her, an eager smile across his features.

Though they were human Raveres enjoyed every moment of attention she was receiving.

And she smiled.

…

Annio narrowed his vision as he stood on the quarterdeck of his ship.

“There lads! I see a fair spot!”

Most of the rigging was pulled in and the men weighed anchor as the ship slowed amidst several shoals and small islands.

The islands were once part of a larger chain which either the waves, or the roaring of an ancient volcano had swept back under the water.

In the last years Annio and the crew of his ship had been using the largest of the islands as a place to stow the lion’s share of their hoarded treasure. It was well protected from the elements and the waves within a small cave which the pirates had hollowed out for their uses.

Looking skyward Annio saw that the sun was setting and he raised an eyebrow.

Turning to his Sigmar-worshipping first mate he nodded.

“The talents, ingots and such. Make sure the chests are well spaced and load as many as possible.”

The mate nodded, “And the weather?”

Annio looked at the waves and grumbled, “Wait a short spell only, if it doesn’t calm press onwards as carefully as possible. I want to finish with all this business and be back to raiding as soon as we are able.”

The mate nodded as the captain stepped towards the stairs to the lower deck.

Looking to the men the mate began, “Alright set to it men! Make the longboats ready we’re putting to our hoard!”

The men cheered and threw their fists in the air triumphantly.

…

Mariana waited and waited, biding her time with fantasies about her plan for Annio. She’d plied her charms on several key men aboard the ship and felt certain she’d be able to fuck, talk, and or stab her way out of whatever was to come.

Besides, the journey back to Estalia could only take a day more at most.

The fact that they had weighed anchor hadn’t yet dawned on her, and the former slave had fallen prey to her hubris, and carelessness…

Annio paused outside his cabin door.

He held his left hand on his hip, and made sure his dagger was in easy gripping distance as he opened his door.

His eyes scanned the room and Mariana sat up from the bed. She had a smile across her face and her breasts exposed as her hair messily fell around them framing them in the dim lighting of the room.

The top of her hair was curled and sat unevenly, presumably from her tumbling in the sheets.

“Oh my captain!” she cooed.

He smiled and somewhat relaxed as he entered the room.

“Aye my lady… how are you so far?”

She pouted and rubbed her arm, “I long to be returned to my home.”

He nodded, “I know… I know. Yet fear not, we shall be there just as soon as the tide returns.”

She furrowed her brow and looked towards the porthole, “It seems like the weather is picking up, good that we left dock when we did, huh?”

He stepped into the room and carefully closed the door. Searching for her dress and also making sure that his various swords were still all where he had left them.

“Mhmm, yes…” he answered absently.

She adjusted how she sat and rose to display her nude body in the candlelight.

The sheets fell from her skin and Annio held his breath as he looked at her.

“It’s rather cold in here alone captain…” she not-so-subtly stated.

Annio quietly scoffed and loosened his grip on his belt while stepping closer, “Truly”

She lay backwards slowly, resting her head against the cabin’s wall while sitting on the pillows. She drew her legs out from under the sheets and coyly parted them to give the man a better view of her lips.

He tilted his head upwards as he began to take stock of the room and his ‘passenger’.

“Let us not stand on pretention here… Speak plainly.”

Mariana let out a dry breath and blinked in disappointment. “Well… I thought it would be obvious? I want you to bed me.”

Annio waved his right hand and stepped to the left side of the room, farther from the bed and towards a chair and table he had to the corner.

“Aye, aye… No I mean you.”

Mariana furrowed her brow and immediately played dumb, “I don’t kno-“

Annio cut her off with a grave shot from his eyes.

He reached for a small bread knife which sat on a wooden plate on the table and held it quizzically.

“What did you hope to achieve here?”

Mariana huffed in disappointment and closed her legs.

“Really I don’t think this is the time for such an interrogation…”

Annio let go of the knife and stepped forwards.

The Slaaneshi worshipper raised an eyebrow and reactively moved backwards on the bed.

“Perhaps I should ask you in a different way?”

With his hands up Annio lunged onto the bed and cupped her head as he forced a kiss to her lips.

At first Mariana tried falling backwards to avoid him, but she then changed strategy and latched onto the captain, attempting to tear his shirt off.

Annio’s mind raced as he began running his hands along the edge of her torso, cupping her breasts occasionally as he kissed her lips and made sure to move his head in such a way as to obscure her vision and force her to keep her eyes closed.

She cooed and moaned through the kissing and eventually they had to part lips so she could pull the blouse off his muscled chest.

Pre-empting her Annio unclipped his dagger from his belt and threw it across the room, far from her reach…

She seemed not to take any greater significance of the action and began eagerly and lustily helping bring the captain’s trousers down from his waist.

When it was free past his knees she let out a groan of satisfaction and reached for his slightly erect member.

“Ah ta-ta, mouth only.” He warned.

Mariana raised a brow and playfully complied as she repositioned herself on the bed.

With her hands behind her back she extended forwards with an open mouth and stuck her tongue out to begin to tease and lick the end of Annio’s cock.

With her distracted the captain took a deep breath and began inspecting the area around the bed.

‘Weapons… daggers… has she hidden anything?’ His breath went up sharply and he held in a moan as she began licking and sucking him into her mouth.

With a careful and quick movement Annio used his discarded shirt at Mariana’s side to wrap around her arms and bind them together.

The way he had stretched over top of her, and the way that she had extended forwards, made it so that she couldn’t back herself off of his cock and she struggled under him, mumbling words of surprise as she tried to force the captain’s erect penis past her lips.

When he had knotted the shirt tightly and believed her arms to be securely taken out of the equation he leaned backwards and allowed her a moment of reprieve.

Coughing and sputtering as the spit coated cock left her mouth Mariana involuntarily drooled as she swore, “What the fuck?!”

She coughed and looked up, “If you wanted to bind me you could have said so!”

Annio smiled falsely, “That would have ruined the surprise…”

Mariana spat onto the floor and narrowed her eyes and grumbled. The captain ignored her protest and continued, focused on his plan,

“Can you raise your bottom into the air?”

Mariana nodded but her face remained irritated.

“Good,” he chuckled, “I promise when I am done down there you will forgive me.”

…

Annio tortured Mariana almost ceaselessly with his tongue. Attacking her clitoris and running from the top to the bottom of her exposed labia before sticking his mouth in between them and kissing her madly.

She struggled against his shirt but the sailor’s knot he had used stayed true and she found no ability to budge it, she orgasmed involuntarily several times and began fighting her bonds while kicking uselessly into the air.

Eventually she decided to wrap her legs around his head and hold him down between her thighs.

Moving her hips she rode his face and made herself cum on his tongue at least twice.

Her legs relaxed and Annio took it as his time to move.

Easily escaping her grip he flipped her over and inserted his erect cock into her glistening and dripping womanhood.

At the swift and easy penetration she arched her back and threw her head upwards while attempting to struggle against her bonds again.

Annio reached forwards and grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her backwards, forcing her to rise as he thrust into her deeper and deeper.

She moaned loudly and tried tossing from one side to the other but she couldn’t get her arms free and now it was beginning to concern her.

At that moment the Estalian captain saw the last thing he needed to commit fully to his plan.

Mariana’s movements had caused her previously hidden dagger to come out from under the pillows just enough that he could see it.

He pursed his lips and stopped moving briefly as he hesitated.

He didn’t want to believe it, but he threw his conscience to the side and steeled his resolve.

With his left arm he wrapped it around her neck and brought her so that her back was now pressed against his chest.

Letting go of her hair from his right hand he began holding his right arm underneath her breasts, pressing just enough to constrict her ribs and diaphragm.

Her arms were pressed uncomfortably between their bodies and she began pulling and fighting the material as hard as she could as his thrusts stopped; she knew something was wrong.

He repositioned his left arm and began pressing it tightly against her throat.

Leaning his head beside hers he whispered into her ear; “I know what you had planned for me, and I know what you are…”

At first Mariana could only listen to the words in confusion, but then his arm pressed down as hard as he could and she quickly began choking.

“I figured you dabbled in magic of some kind! But…”

He shook his head, “I never foresaw you to be a true chaos worshipper!”

She pulled against the shirt as hard as she could as she dryly coughed and struggled for air.

Annio tensed his chest as he put all his strength into his arm. He squeezed his body against hers and they fell forwards into the bed.

Her arms were pinned and she coughed as her eyes tensed and she tried rolling and kicking.

The captain held on as much as he could and grit his teeth as he tightened his grip just a bit more.

‘Fuck, _fuck fuck!’_ Mariana’s mind was awash with profanity and all sorts of madness as she continued to buck and try to dislodge Annio from his death-grip.

Yet… his member was still within her and the more she struggled the worse it was; because she _enjoyed it…_

‘Prince of p-pleasure?!?’ she called futilely, ‘what… a p-pleasurable d-deat-th!’

She fought the sadistic and evil desire within her to give in and instead doubled her efforts to escape her bondage, ‘No! I must _kill him!’_

She gave all her strength to one more roll and unfortunately for Mariana Annio easily used her own momentum to aid in tightening his grip.

Spinning so that he was now under and Mariana was on top she stuck her tongue out as drool began leaking from the side of her mouth and her eyes rolled back. Her arms and nails dug uselessly into his abdomen but the shirt finally gave way.

Her legs kicked and began tangling themselves in the bedding as her body arched. Her muscles strained and she was losing air quickly, but she was able to get her arms free.

Annio couldn’t let go of her throat so he was only able to take hold of her right arm at the wrist.

Her left hand began reaching towards the pillows beside them and for the protruding hilt of the dagger from her dress.

Annio loudly cried, “You were the one who killed Julio! You’ve been consorting with all kinds of foulness to take my men!”

He cried as he pulled backwards on his arm, “You reeked of Slaanesh the first time I laid eyes on you!” he shook his head, “But I didn’t want to believe it… I should never have taken you aboard!”

Mariana let out a wet cough and took hold of the dagger as she bucked and attempted to aim her weakening arm at her assailant. Before she could even make a single strike she began convulsing as she experienced one final, insanity-induced, orgasm.

The knife slipped from her poor grip and her arm dropped as she twitched, but Annio’s vice-like arms did not slacken.

Little did she know that the whole experience she was going through was a gift from Slaanesh himself; what her mind was being subjected to was the envy of even his most devoted acolytes… It only took a ‘passion filled death’ to receive it.

Twitching and shivering as she noiselessly expired, Mariana became limp on top of Annio and he finally let go of her right wrist.

Huffing and sweating profusely Annio pressed his right hand into Mariana’s left breast and felt for her heart-beat.

After several seconds of silence he finally let go of his grip on her throat and, like a rag-doll, she fell off him and to the side.

Panting and coughing he brought his arm from out underneath her and pushed her away from him.

He groaned and let out a pained cry, “You evil witch!”

His chest felt sick with revulsion and he couldn’t believe what he had just done.

He leant over the side of his bed and spat a small retch of bile.

Shivering from his nerves Annio stood up from the bed and shook his head again before reaching for her previously concealed dagger.

The hilt was carved into with several sigils and markings.

Through his tear filled eyes he recognised a few, and he knew that it had been made into an object of chaos.

He shook with fear and stepped towards the window, with a carefully placed shot he threw the blade into the sea.

Gathering his wits and his breath he wiped his face and steeled himself before turning around. Hesitantly he stole a look at Mariana’s face.

Her expression was startling; her tongue was sticking out and her eyes were frozen, looking upwards, yet she was also somehow smiling…

He furrowed his brow and shook in disbelief, “Th…the crazy bitch… s-she… she was enjoying it?”

He panted and looked away with a shudder before collapsing to the floor of his cabin, naked and shivering, sputtering to himself in disbelief.

Eventually he heard his name,

“Annio…”

He looked up.

Mariana remained motionless.

Yet… he had heard her voice…

It laughed and asked again, “Annio?”

He let out a terror filled scream and quickly scrambled to his feet.

The body still did not move and as he angled to see her macabre expression again the voice spoke.

“Did you think you’d be rid of me so easily?”

Her face was still frozen and the spit on her lips glistened in the flickering candlelight…

The voice had come from within his head.

He gripped either side of his skull and began yelling.

Her lips were beginning to turn blue and her bruised and crushed throat began taking on a variety of colours as her skin became pale.

He turned to where he had thrown his own dagger and searched for it along the floor hastily.

Once he had hold of the weapon he turned and looked at her again.

This time the body had moved; just a shudder, but it had been enough to make her flesh and breast jiggle.

‘She was dead…’ he thought, his eyes wide with fear. His mind began racing and he shivered madly.

“She _is_ dead.” He whispered, correcting himself.

The voice within his skull had increased in volume and made him trip as he moved towards the door.

“Annio… I asked you…”

The voice laughed and Mariana’s quickly bluing corpse slowly began to rise.

“Did you think you could get rid of me so easily?”

…


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: Raveres and co. prepare for the coming journey, Elianna receives a mission, and the night comes.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Thirteen

Yurin had done so much talking that his tongue had worn the roof of his mouth nearly raw and his head was swimming from constantly changing from one language to another.

He did not anticipate that Raveres was going to be as willing to speak with his fellow humans as much as she was.

But thankfully for the weary linguist it came time to end this session of the Sapphire Court, and Sadalsuud rose as a gong rang loudly.

The roomful of nobles began to quiet and turn their attention towards the regent.

He waited quietly until everyone had hushed completely and he was sure of their collective attention.

Then he began to make a declaration. Occasionally he would point to Raveres and her companions.

Smacking the back of her hand against Yurin’s shoulder he coughed and cleared his sore throat as he tried his best to catch up to Sadalsuuds’ words.

“He’s explaining… he’s stated that he is officially, sorry _has_ officially charged you and your fellows with hunting down and bringing him the head of the pirate known as Annio-Luis de Bilbali.”

As the Arabyan said the name it clearly drew every ounce of ire possible from Sadalsuud, at his sides Raveres could see his hands shake with rage. The crowd whispered among one another as they looked on.

Yurin coughed quietly and continued as he explained what else the regent was saying, “The captain of the palace guard shall accompany you, and the fleetest, most swift of all the Emir’s ships will be granted to finally bring the, ahem, ‘bastard’ to justice.”

Funnily enough Yurin appeared uncomfortable to repeat the curse, but Raveres shook her head and continued to watch and listen.

“He’s now said that the ship shall depart at first light tomorrow and-“

The pauper-prince who Raveres had met earlier threw his hand in the air as he stepped forwards.

Two of his retainers followed him as the man began speaking, his arm still remaining up.

Raveres raised an eyebrow in interest as she, Sir Jean, and Jacque watched the display.

The squire began a private giggle as the prince continued speaking, without looking to his side Sir Jean executed a perfectly aimed smack to the boy’s ear. Quieting down and clutching at the cartilage Jacque mumbled petulantly.

“What’s he saying?” Raveres asked, somewhat irritated that she had to prompt Yurin again.

“Prince Balik is um… well he’s volunteering to accompany you?”

Raveres furrowed her brow and then turned to Sir Jean.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked hastily and quietly.

The knight furrowed his brow as well, “We already were going to have enough men to run the ship… I don’t quite know what the prince intends by this…”

Just then Balik looked over and smiled, his handsome and straight teeth made several of the women in the court swoon. Raveres would have rolled her eyes if not for the fact that he was looking directly at her.

Instead she stood motionless as laughs and claps came from several places in the crowd.

Jacque’s face contorted as he looked around in confusion, when he looked at the prince he wanted to snarl.

Simultaneously Sir Jean and Yurin began speaking to Raveres in either ear. But Yurin yielded to the elder knight.

“Sadalsuud is in a difficult position right now… On the one hand he can’t be seen giving aid to Balik for the diplomatic repercussions that it’ll cause with his sister…”

Raveres nodded, “And the other?”

“On the other; Sadalsuud will face scrutiny for refusing the prince’s public offer of his volunteer service…”

The knight clucked his tongue as he thought aloud; “Though it’s less of Sadalsuud aiding the prince than giving him an opportunity to die.”

Raveres narrowed her brow and stifled a laugh at the knight’s deadpan delivery.

Confused Sir Jean looked back at her and she waved her hand for him to ignore it.

The whispering and the commentary of the crowd began to pick up as Sadalsuud looked down at the prince. The handsome noble smiled and had a private laugh as he looked around at the many expressions and reactions of those in attendance.

Sadalsuud held up and open palm as he said one word.

Yurin piped back up with the Druhir translation; “ _So be it”_

…

Lord Titos was pacing the bedchamber incessantly, lost in his thoughts and peering out one of the slit windows periodically.

Lady Naguii was resting her eyes under a damp cloth when she finally reached for an empty glass goblet and threw it in his direction.

It smashed against the stone wall sending glass shards across the floor of Titos’ path. He stared at the glittering fragments for a few seconds before looking back at the large canopied bed.

“Excellent throw my dear…”

Lady Naguii made no noise and gave no response other than a small smile across her lips.

A rap at the door sounded and Elianna appeared, out of breath from the stairs and the speed with which she had just ran.

She held a small piece of parchment in her hands and extended it towards Titos, the Dreadlord began inhaling through his nose deeply, regarding the paper from Lord Kalinside with apprehension.

Without moving her body Lady Naguii waved Elianna forwards weakly as she addressed her husband, “Patience my love, take a breath first and then read it aloud. I wish to hear it at the same time as you.”

Elianna sat herself at the side of the bed and held onto Lady Naguii’s hand. Taking the long fingers into her palm the high-elf started rubbing her mistress’ pale flesh nervously as she calmed her own breathing.

“Greetings upon your house Naguii, your offer comes at an inauspicious time; though we avow that it is no less intriguing for it. We wonder only that, should you wish…”

Titos faltered and Lady Naguii tensed her hand in Elianna’s, “Why have you stopped?”

The Dreadlord looked to his wife and rolled his shoulders in annoyance.

“…We wonder only that, should you wish to make certain this endeavour, you would reiterate your offer, in the flesh. No lies, no misconstruction, only bare faces before one another, as in battle.”

Titos crumpled the parchment into a ball and threw it towards the grating of the chamber’s recently fed fireplace.

“The bastard seeks to ensnare me at his home… in a position devoid of aid.” He looked at Lady Naguii and she lifted the cloth from her lids.

“A position away from you… This is your plot. I cannot present myself and hope to-“

Lady Naguii raised her hand from Elianna’s grip easily. Her husband stopped mid-word as he saw the gesture.

“Is the Jaylish boy still within the city?” she asked.

Titos raised a brow, before smiling sadistically.

“Elianna!” he declared.

The high-elf rose to her feet with a nod.

“Make yourself presentable, take Riccard and two guards, and seek out Jaylish Kalinside. He ought to be in the council hall of the great tower.”

Elianna narrowed her brow and opened her mouth but Titos cut her off.

“Say whatever you need to get him to come here. Tell him…” he smiled, “Tell him I’ve thought about his kind words. Say that specifically, ‘kind words’.”

He looked to Lady Naguii and explained, “The boy was taken too much with wine last time we met, said a few things he shouldn’t have… It’ll work.”

Elianna nodded again and then to her mistress.

…

Darting down to her personal quarters the high-elf slave spared no time in carefully pulling her hair back, brushing out the dishevelled knots and tangles and changing her clothes.

She washed her face quickly and applied some scent to mask the sweat and stress of her twenty four hour vigil over her mistress.

She stole one more glance at herself in her small cracked mirror and nodded, ‘It’s as good as I’m going to get…’

Her blonde hair needed a wash with soap, but that was by her standards…

She still looked breathtaking, her light elfish features and healthy skin blushed across her cheeks from where she had rinsed her face, though under her eyes hang a little heavier than usual but she waved it off.

‘Nothing sleep won’t fix… but gods know when I’ll get to be able to have that next.’

She’d changed out of the simple black cloak and black underclothes from earlier and into something far more impressive; a pink and white silken dress tailored to her exact size and imbued with gold thread accents.

The deep v of the neckline was of the southern Ulthuan style and stopped almost at the bottom of her cleavage. She didn’t have time to bedeck herself in lavish jewelry, she hoped that the gold thread of the dress’ accents would be enough.

Taking up one of her thick outer cloaks she steeled herself and met with her escort.

“Riccard… let us go.”

The Norscan nodded and grunted.

The former Viking was dressed in furs and at his hilt was a single sword. Waiting at the Naguii door were two guardsmen, their helmets had purple and white feathers poking out the back and they were each encased in black-iron plate. Like the human they had only one blade each.

Lord Titos wanted to impress and lure in Jaylish. He didn’t want to intimidate him into suspecting a trap. A greeting party of four, with a sensual high-elf as herald was sure to show a cordial intent, and with Riccard assigned Titos was sure that Jaylish would feel it worthy of his attention.

It was well known in Blacklight Tower that Riccard was Titos’ right hand; if the tall human Norscan was seen somewhere everyone could be sure that it was on purpose and to remind them of who owned the man.

The weather was improving, spring was near done and summer was beginning to creep into Naggaroth. Elianna still felt chilled by the wind nonetheless and clutched at her cloak’s edges tightly.

The ‘tower’ of Blacklight Tower was just up the hill from the noble quarter and but a short walk for the Naguii retinue, this aside Elianna resented it all the same. She was just as spoiled as the family children which she served.

“No bloodshed Riccard…” she looked behind at the Naguii guardsmen and pointed a thin delicate finger from the folds of her warm cloak, “None! Or Lord Titos will flay you living.”

She grunted and cleared her throat as a noble passed by on horseback.

Riccard looked at the plate covered Druchii beside him and shrugged, “Bu’ what if he tells us to piss off?”

Elianna drew a sharp breath and half turned, “If he refuses then we wish him well and leave…”

Then she smiled, getting men to agree to meet with and do dealings with _her_ family was what she did best.

“But that won’t happen.”

The guardsmen looked at one another and shared eye rolls, they were being paid regardless and cared very little in the grand scheme of things what was to happen, but one piped up a question anyway, “What if he’s got several retainers with him? How do we treat ‘em?”

“They too are not to be harmed.”

They were approaching the tall open gate of the black Druchii fortification and she whispered, “We are simply enticing him, we can’t give the boy any inclination to refuse… I swear,”

She pulled the collar of her cloak away and revealed her neck and warm flesh.

“We get him to come home and we’ll each receive a boon.”

The guardsmen immediately perked up and straightened their backs, “Right then… no threats, no fighting.”

Elianna nodded, “Exactly, honey works better than vinegar.”

Riccard looked down at the elf and furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”

The four passed into the tower’s entrance and the high elf narrowed her eyes as she looked up at the dull Norscan.

…

Jacque listened on as the prince spoke and then Sadalsuud concluded the meeting of the court.

‘By the Lady, what is this?!’ he thought.

He glared at the prince as plainly as he dared while Sir Jean and Raveres spoke. Occasionally the tall servant who also spoke the Druchii language would interject.

The three adults stood motionless as the court began to disperse and Sadalsuud retreated from the throne, accompanied by a few of the highest and most decorated officials.

Several of the sycophantic courtiers stood amongst each other watching Raveres, not daring to approach her but instead content to merely watch in silence.

Everything about the attention she was getting made the young man seethe.

‘I am punished… I am atoned, then I am punished further?’ he complained.

‘Why couldn’t she l-look at me that way?’ he stopped and his eyes widened in surprise.

Raveres was smirking and said something which had made Sir Jean actually laugh. The translator servant brought a hand to his mouth as he too laughed.

‘Why can’t… what are they saying? What’s being…’

As people were passing by him, giving their polite farewells to one another Jacque realised; no one was paying him any mind.

His hand at his hilt relaxed and his features drooped somewhat.

‘Am I not even here?’

Jacque growled with quiet impotence as the Vizier spoke to those remaining.

…

Sir Jean was busy speaking with one of the court servants as Raveres stood by with Yurin.

After the departure of Sadalsuud the majority of people began leaving the hall. Only a few of the bravest, or most interested, stayed; continuing to catch a glimpse of the strange white haired Druchii as the Vizier spoke.

“Dreadlord Naguii, Sir Jean…” Wick’tus noticeably hesitated before continuing, “Prince Balik, Follow me.”

Yurin was at Raveres’ ear and she nodded as they stepped after the vizier.

Prince Balik proudly stepped towards the group and smiled as he followed, attempting to work his way to the Druchii’s side.

Sir Jean furrowed his brow and clearly pushed forwards as the group exited the audience chamber and down a corridor.

“Come Jacque.” The knight grunted.

Possessed by a pseudo-paternal concern for Raveres, Sir Jean made sure to plant himself firmly at her left side. With Yurin on her right and Jacque directly behind him he had forced Prince Balik and his two retainers to follow behind them.

To avoid stepping on any of their heels or on the edge of Raveres’ dress the prince was forced to stay at an awkward pace.

The hall’s width was such that unless he wanted to squeeze himself between either Sir Jean or Yurin there wouldn’t be enough space for him to be at the Druchii’s side.

Sir Jean hid a smile when he saw the frustrated expression on the prince’s face and his mumbled curses.

Ahead of them stepped the vizier, far quicker than his age suggested Wick’tus sped along until they came to a more intimate but still opulent and impressive chamber.

He grunted and coughed as he cleared his throat and pointed towards the tall, darkly skinned and muscled man that had stood beside him when Sir Jean, Raveres, and Jacque were first greeted at the palace.

“This is Asada the captain of the palace guard.”

The dark man grunted unhappily and nodded once.

Raveres nose crinkled at the indignity but she remained silent.

Yurin was quiet and appeared somehow incredibly fatigued, he was swallowing incessantly and his breathing was laboured.

Jacque came from behind to Sir Jean’s left and sighed quietly.

Prince Balik laughed and spoke loudly, “If I had of known volunteering to take down a simple pirate would have gotten me into the Emir’s favour like this I’d have done it far sooner!”

His men chuckled like hyenas and Sir Jean raised a brow in disapproval.

Wick’tus, a man of many years, ignored the prince’s words and stepped towards one of the rooms many scattered seats.

Groaning and exhaling heavily the old statesman sat and invited everyone to follow.

The prince quickly and eagerly took the first seat available.

He sat with a smile and giggled privately.

‘Obviously he’s enjoying being given some serious attention like this…’ Sir Jean sighed, ‘I’d wager he’s been nothing but the butt of jokes for years now.’

Raveres appeared far less understanding and one of her manicured eyebrows arched as she looked down at the oblivious prince.

Sir Jean pursed his lips and stepped towards one of the seats to the left of the room so he could get a better view of everyone else.

‘Perhaps that was the seat she had desired?’ the knight thought with a smirk.

The expression on the Druchii’s face was muted but Sir Jean knew at once that she was not pleased with the prince. Even from something as slight as the order of precedence in ‘who seats first’.

Shaking his head Sir Jean closed his eyes as Jacque sat beside him, ‘Bloody nobles…’

…

‘Well then… the insolent fool can have that one.’ Raveres thought with spite.

Sitting closest to the vizier Raveres appeared to have made a point to put herself so close to the man and so much in front of everyone else. Yurin stepped after her and stood at quiet attention behind and to her side.

Prince Balik’s men stood to the wall behind him and Wicktus nodded to captain Asada.

The man spoke with a voice deeper than any Raveres had ever heard from a human before; it was like a boulder being dragged from a quarry.

Tendons and muscles in his thick neck flexed with each word and though he was speaking Arabyan Raveres watched him with interest.

‘I don’t know what it is about this human…’ she thought, ‘but something’s amiss.’

As he spoke he’d occasionally glance at her and they would lock eyes then he’d look back to the others.

Yurin coughed and leaned towards her ear as he translated quietly.

“He’s describing how he will have command of the ship during the course of sailing at that you are all to serve under him.”

Prince Balik appeared as unhappy as Raveres felt and she smirked with some degree of comfort, however she maintained mute features ensuring none in attendance would have an inkling of what she was thinking.

Sir Jean sat forwards listening with a martial sense of attention; doubtless he’d have been at the receiving end of such a briefing hundreds of times before.

Jacque though somewhat dejected and dour looking sat forwards and emulated his master; Raveres furrowed her brow somewhat in disappointment.

‘What’s made the squire so low?’ She wondered.

“Sadalsuud has indicated that all spoils of treasure other than what was stolen from the Druchii will be hers and the knights to dispense with.”

Prince Balik grumbled and his retainers immediately backed him up as he began to argue.

Raveres leant back in her seat and spoke quietly to her translating servant, “Yurin?”

He nodded and hastily interpreted, “The prince is demanding that other than restoring what was yours the rest of the spoils should be divided by the level of effort put into battle.”

Wick’tus rubbed his eyes and quickly began speaking with the prince as the captain stopped.

Raveres looked across to Sir Jean and Jacque and the two Bretons both gave her knowing nods.

Despite the direction that the meeting was now taking Raveres decided to ask Yurin something she’d been wondering since the court.

She adjusted her voice and began calmly, as if she’d asked it a dozen times before,

“Yurin, regardless of the ‘loot’ situation… would you be willing to follow me?”

As the guard captain began discussing with Wick’tus and one of the prince’s retainers interjected the translator raised a brow and stuttered in disbelief.

“Wha-what? I’m not a fighter!” he managed out.

His face contorted in disbelief as he shook his head, “You’ve got your knight there… and there’ll be a crew of the Emir’s best sailors and fighting men… What, what do you need me for?”

Raveres looked up at the human as Sir Jean’s voice entered into the ongoing discussion.

She playfully arched a brow and leant back in her seat, “I don’t just mean into this battle, and don’t worry about that I don’t expect you to fight.”

He exhaled in confusion and she tried a different approach, changing her tone and body language slightly,

“I have no servants… no retainers or sworn followers of my own,” she lowered her voice as she said aside, “as of yet…”

Yurin interjected a question, “But… t-the knight?”

Raveres shook her head; “I do not know what more he will tolerate from me once I have my wealth back…” she smiled and looked over at the Bretons.

“Regardless, his services to me, and mine to him, are none of your concern.”

She tilted her head back and relaxed her shoulders, raising one of her enticing brows in an arch. “Think instead on this: Would you like to leave these scorching and gods forsaken sands?”

Yurin bit his tongue and averted his eyes.

His shifting weight and his hands clenched at the edges of his shirt betrayed him and Raveres looked him over with a sadistic smile, ‘I’ve got him now… who bloody wouldn’t want to leave this place!’

Beside them Wick’tus hushed and spoke as he calmed the men, obviously an agreement had been struck.

Yurin nervously eyed the vizier and then Raveres.

She smiled knowingly but offered him somewhat of a relief as she cooed a conciliatory tone, “Think on it, and bring me your answer this evening.”

The servant quietly nodded in thanks before setting to translating the words of the vizier.

…

Raveres couldn’t care less for what the men had decided to do with the yet-unknown spoils of the pirate’s hoard. All she cared about was that she’d get her elvish gold back, see her honour satisfied, and have the backing of several hundred swords at her disposal.

Everything else was fritter…

The meeting concluded with Wick’tus and the guard captain speaking at length and Raveres barely paying attention.

She couldn’t afford to pay attention; her mind was racing as she pictured Annio’s face, broken, bloody, and crawling at her feet; his men wailing as they died at her blade, and his ship sinking as she sent his ragged rat infested vessel on a one way trip to Mathlann.

Raveres shifted in her seat as she lent herself to daydream.

Before long she had relaxed herself into pleasantness and was lost in a reverie.

Sir Jean furrowed his brow when he glanced over at her and saw that she was leant back, and her expression washed over with reserved bliss.

‘By the lady…’ he thought, ‘what in the hells is she thinking of now?!’

The aged Wick’tus reiterated the main details of their mission once more before wearily standing.

“Now… Lord Sadalsuud has invited you all to dine with him before retiring for the evening… For each of you I suggest no wine, nor ale. This shall go off without failure and the honour of the Al Daouk shall be satisfied by its serene and perfect execution.”

He nodded and ran a raggled hand through his beard.

“While my lord has made plain that you are to kill Annio, if it is possible to make prisoners of his men so that they may be brought to the city and made examples of in the square, I would personally make a ransom to you of one blood ruby per head.”

Sir Jean raised his brow and Jacque looked up at his master in astonishment.

Chiming up the Breton knight quickly made plain his confusion, “My lord… that’s a neigh ludicrous amount for these simple sea-brigands.”

Wick’tus nodded, “I am hoping that it will stay the men’s appetite for blood enough to help us remind the small folk who rules in Al Daouk.”

The old mans yellowed and worn teeth shone through his thick beard in a smile.

Jacque scoffed and shook his head as he quietly said to Sir Jean; “This makes battle seem like a market… We’re doing a just act and yet the prince there and his men, even the ship’s crew I imagine, wish to barter and haggle…”

Sir Jean hid his surge of pride, but quietly responded. “You have learned well my boy… But remember what I told you of the owl and the fox?”

Jacque looked at the vizier, Asada, then the prince, before nodding.

“Sorry master…”

The anecdote was a way of reminding Jacque that though they may not look it one can never be sure if one knows your language or not.

“I cannot speak for anyone but myself and my squire; we shall face these foes as we would any other. Their capture or their surrender is not up to me.”

Raveres nodded along somewhat seriously now as Yurin explained what the knight had said.

Sir Jean indicated captain Asada, “The captain, being the official representative of the Emir, should be the one charged with this.”

The Druchii shook her head and interjected for the first time the whole meeting.

Yurin translated her words into Araby and emulated her roused emotion as he spoke,

“Lady Raveres asks me to remind all that these, pirate scum, slaughtered her crew, killed her captain, and had her shot and thrown into the sea to drown rather than give her a clean death.”

Raveres sat forwards and uncrossed her legs as she straightened her back and her eyes brightened with anger.

Prince Balik visibly moved in his seat and his retainers looked at her apprehensively.

Yurin nodded at her next sentence and repeated, “It is her right to lay claim to _all_ of them…”

Sir Jean pursed his lips and lowered his eyes as she continued.

The vizier stepped back and Asada crossed his arms at the seated Druchii’s words.

“As per the deal _she_ struck with Sadalsuud. The lord agreed that he would give her the means to achieve her vengeance and from then they would have secured future relations with blood as their ink.”

Raveres rose from her seat and Sir Jean and Jacque followed suit, prince Balik slowly stood, somewhat uncomfortably looking from his right to his left.

An eerie calm came over the she-elf as she drew in a breath and lowered her voice.

Yurin stepped forwards and continued to translate her words, almost apologetically, “My lady is famished and the thought of battle has heated her blood… she avows that dining now might be the best course of action.”

Sir Jean, who thought he knew the Druchii before, now stood with an eyebrow cocked in interest. ‘Crafty little creature aren’t you?’ he thought.

Wick’tus somewhat taken aback by the turn of the meeting nodded, “Aye… perhaps that would be best.”

He nodded to Raveres and to Sir Jean, “Asada will see to the crew and ship, and you may follow me…”

Asada grunted before unfolding his thick, trunk like, arms and turning to leave. As he passed down the hall that they had entered from a servant stepped forwards and quickly whisked towards Wick’tus’ side.

Prince Balik bowed his head towards Raveres, his expression somewhat changed as he looked at her differently.

Wick’tus met eyes with the prince and bowed politely, “Your highness, I am told the servants have prepared a meal for you and your retainers in your chamber. Once again the Emir thanks you for your volunteering on this mission, and he shall not forget this kindness.”

The vizier’s voice and tone was such that it left no room for Balik to get in another word, he’d been dismissed and not invited to proceed further.

Looking from Raveres to Sir Jean the prince feigned disinterest and nodded, “It is well! I hope they’ve provided enough this time.”

His retainers laughed and the trio turned to leave as the prince bowed half-heartedly, “Let Sadalsuud know that even though he is regent I want his brother to hear of my aid… I shan’t forget the Al Daouks when I am returned to my throne!”

Wick’tus nodded as the men left, “Of course…”

When the three white-dressed men had gone he turned to the three remaining and sighed, “This way.”

The messenger servant had already stepped ahead of Wick’tus and opened an ornate set of double doors to the side of the meeting chamber and the elderly vizier led them through.

Sir Jean cleared his throat as he stepped beside Raveres, “Quite a performance, would you not agree milady?”

The Druchii made a small smile and looked to the knight, pleased to hear him speak Druhir once more.

She appeared to pause before responding, “Indeed… I confess I’ve thought about how best to utilise your example.”

Sir Jean furrowed his eyebrows in genuine surprise, “I… I’m flattered?”

Raveres nodded, “I’m glad to hear it. I hope that my…” she paused. “Restraint was once again appreciated.”

The temperature of the hallway began to warm as they were led into a beautiful and ornate dining room. She sounded almost genuine as she continued, “Now, I hope we’ll have opportunity to speak as we eat.”

Sir Jean nodded but couldn’t help but begin thinking, ‘The she-elf was acting… or was something changed in her? The setting maybe?’

Whatever it was he knew that she was playing at something, how he was supposed to react was something that began to nag at him uncomfortably.

…

Asada bowed his head as he responded to Sadalsuud.

“Other than the inclusion of Prince Balik I don’t see anything to worry about.”

The lord nodded and stepped towards the columned window of the lengthy palace promenade, he quietly ‘hmmed’ in response.

Looking to the two officials behind Lord Sadalsuud Asada narrowed his brow, “I’ll see to the ship and crew my lord. If there’s anything else?”

He added the question as a courtesy and had already turned to leave when Sadalsuud spoke back up and approached him.

“Yes! Actually…” he quieted and looked over his shoulder at the two courtiers who he was previously speaking with.

“The elf… you’ll ensure her survival yes?”

Asada scoffed, “She hardly seems like she’d need my aid on that score; her tongue has an edge to it like a razor and her ears seem just as sharp.”

The guard captain chuckled and then stopped when he saw Sadalsuud’s expression.

“Apologies my lord… I only mean she seems quite capable from her attitude. And from what I’ve heard from the men who fought with her against the Red-Riders she’s a skilled swordsman.”

Sadalsuud’s features did not soften and the large muscled captain felt discomfort at the regent’s gaze.

“I will do as you have asked.”

The regent nodded once and then stepped back from his captain, “Good. She must remain unmarred…”

Asada reluctantly nodded before catching his breath at the way his master had spoken.

‘Unmarred?’ he thought, ‘He doesn’t…’ the guard captain furrowed his brow, “My lord, she is as vicious as she is-“

Raising a hand to silence him Sadalsuud then spoke, loud enough so the courtiers he was with could hear as well, “See to the ship and prepare yourself for tomorrow. I need you to be at top form to represent me!”

He turned with a smile and Asada bowed, “Yes my lord…”

…

The meal cooked for them was one of roasted lamb, garnished with alien vegetables upon a bed of small mysterious white kernels. Steaming and aromatic sauce had been poured over top of the multi-coloured display and Raveres struggled to contain her surprise.

She struggled even more with keeping some semblance of civility as she ate.

It’d been far too many months since she had properly prepared kitchen food.

The spices which were used in the lamb’s glaze were unlike anything she’d tasted before…

It began as warmth across her tongue before spreading, almost uncomfortably, only to be replaced by sweetness which lingered until her next bite, or until she washed it down with freshly pressed fruit juice.

She spoke with Sir Jean sparingly, the meal had taken her away from the moment and for a brief period she felt unbothered by plots or plans or of the battle to come.

Sadalsuud had extended his apologies to his guests for his lateness and when he arrived Raveres, Sir Jean, and Jacque had each eagerly ate their ways through half of their meal.

He explained that he was being hounded now by noble friends of his brother and other matters but Raveres couldn’t give a care.

They ate and politely conversed for a few hours before night finally fell outside the elegant windows of the dining room.

She couldn’t help but notice that Sadalsuud’s demeanour had changed somewhat.

As they neared the end of the meal she couldn’t help but feel his eyes gazing at her, somehow she could feel them trace a line down her neck and shoulder.

She furrowed her brow, but kept the discomfort to herself.

Suddenly she disliked the dress she was wearing.

She disliked the food and she chose to neglect the last bites left on her plate.

Something was beginning to bother her about her ‘partner’.

Sir Jean and Jacque were as they always had been to her, and they even shared a few jests with the Arabyan merchant-prince.

He laughed heartily and the two Bretonnians smiled jovially, disarmed and seemingly taken in by their host.

But Raveres felt revulsion begin to grow at the back of her throat and at the base of her spine.

‘What is he planning?’ She looked to her side at Sadalsuud and something began to whisper to her something very clearly.

‘He’s not to be trusted.’

She retreated to her thoughts and when the meal was concluded Sadalsuud wished them goodnight and the party disbanded.

A palace servant entered and announced that they would be leading Raveres, Sir Jean, and Jacque back to their chambers. The Druchii had slowed her pace as they exited the room and somewhat excitedly began speaking with the knight.

Softening his expression the elder knight smirked as he thought, ‘Maybe I can teach the girl after all?’

…

Jaylish Kalinside was among several retainers and comrades when Elianna finally spotted him.

The great hall of Blacklight Tower was a sight to behold. Though it was smaller when compared to the grand remnants of the Black Arks which many of the ancient cities had been made from, the successive lords of Blacklight Tower had made up for this in their own ways.

The vaulted celings of the grand hall rose higher and higher until were one to look up to see the painted and relief covered roof they’d experience vertigo and neck pain.

The design was almost cathedral-like, with three successive lines of marble pillars on either side holding the grand construction up.

At the end of the hall were two brass doors, covered in a bas relief of Malekith smiting some treasonous generals from Ulthuan. No one was to pass the threshold of those doors except upon summons of the city’s council.

Too small to have a Drachau, rule of the city was instead dispensed by a small assembly of the most powerful Dreadlords residing in Blacklight and the surrounding region.

As it was within the province of ‘The Broken Lands’, nearby Karond Kar was the de facto capital and the Lord of that city naturally commanded the noble’s fealty.

Since it was now the beginning of summer the majority of the nobles were out raiding, or had begun moving among the cities plying their skills, enacting plans, and pursuing feuds there were fewer Lords to contend with.

This isn’t to say that the hall was deserted, but it was certainly less populated than it would have been in autumn or mid-winter.

For Elianna it made finding her mark easier.

“Back up somewhat.” She ordered.

With quiet nods Riccard and the Naguii guardsmen stepped back and gave the high-elf a little breathing room, and of course the ability for her to take off her outside cloak.

A few of the elderly lords who were discussing business paused as she revealed her colourful and lively appearance.

The floor of the hall was plain grey stone, the columns were black marble, and the inner walls were dark stone too.

Suffice it to say, at the sudden appearance of a blonde woman, wearing a coloured dress, nearly every pair of eyes was now on her.

The men closest to her bowed their heads as Elianna passed with her entourage.

“Blessings upon Lord Titos, we heard of his son’s success and victory at Vaul’s Fjord.”

The she-elf smiled, as it was she was the most senior Naguii representative outside the family, and she skilfully needed to maintain herself.

“My Lord extends his thanks. Perhaps you may laud Tyren’s victories in person soon enough.”

Gliding past the men the lord mumbled as he spoke to his fellow, “That Naguii upstart’s getting a triumph?” His fellow’s eyes widened and they began whispering among one another.

Elianna nodded and politely greeted several other lords she knew by name and by business with her family.

Some regarded her with licentious familiarity; as the hostess of the Naguii’s villa Elianna had used her silver tongue, on more than one occasion, to perversely arouse and disarm prospective business partners. It often went that she would draw them in make them comfortable, Lord Titos would deliver the ‘killing’ blow, and an advantageous deal would have been struck.

Ensnaring her mark ought to be done the same way, she thought.

Elianna was thankful that she knew the Kalenside boy by sight.

Jaylish had very handsome yet soft features. Unlike many other Druchii he had been taken with a shorter hairstyle; and so his black hair had been cropped. On the sides it was no longer than an inch and a half, while the top was left at two inches.

His fringe and crown stood in different directions messily. It was a youthful and disheveled yet Elianna knew that each lock had been carefully groomed purposefully.

‘Such a stupid hairstyle’ she thought with a sigh.

She drew in a breath and reminded herself; ‘he’s a mark, just bring him back, entice him, and ensnare…’ Her thoughts faltered, ‘damn it though, he’s got the most beautiful of Druchii eyes…’

Her memories of the handsome Kalenside reminded her of colour of his pupils; lilac. Of all the colours that elvish eyes could be, anything violet made Elianna swoon.

Perhaps it was her intimate moments with Raveres which had caused such a fetish to grow, but regardless she shook her head and cleared her throat. ‘You’re the one in control; you’re the one with the plan Elianna… Stop worrying!’

Looking over the lords still in the room ahead of them she found him;

The Kalenside boy was standing with a shoulder leaning against one of the hall’s columns; he had a single short sword at his side and was wearing a simple chainmail greatcoat with a black leather jerkin.

His arms were covered, and his vambraces ended at fast moving pale limbs; the flesh of his hands cut through the air as he gesticulated and spoke with his men. Every large action he made elicited loud chuckles and laughs.

At his right side two black leather gloves had been tucked into his belt.

Jaylish was consumed with a story he was telling his friends, and retainer bodyguards, and his back was to Elianna as she approached.

The high-elf stopped and lazily adjusted how her hair was falling on her shoulder when one of Jaylish’s men coughed and pointed, indicating he ought to look behind him.

“Then I was… What?” he furrowed his brow in confusion at the interruption, the Kalinside turned around and his smile faded.

His purple eyes widened when he saw the mountain of a Norscan and two armoured guardsmen flanking a familiar beautiful house-slave.

He straightened his back and cleared his throat as he recomposed himself.

“And who-“ he began quizzically.

Elianna looked up comically and let out a perfectly practised laugh, “Oh! Forgive me my lord…”

She cleared her throat and smiled, “We are Elianna, servant of the Naguii.”

Clutching her hands in front of her she bowed deeply and looked up at Jaylish and his men with a smile.

Jaylish’s face softened and he bowed his head at the neck, “Of course! I thought you seemed familiar…” He almost stuttered as he tried to become serious in front of his friends. “Uh, how can, I mean, might I aid the Naguii?”

Elianna stepped forwards and moved her head upwards to the right, “Oh it’s a trifle… but my lord sent me to ask you a question.”

His friends whispered and eagerly looked on.

Jaylish’s face blanked as he failed to think of how to react, “Oh? Well I uh, o-of course?”

He shot a look to his friends and they sniggered and waved quiet farewells as they speedily slunk off.

Only his bodyguard remained, and the two men were sternly eyeing Riccard.

Elianna spoke as if nothing had happened, “My lord was having an informal party this evening and he had me go over the guests, when he all of a sudden exclaimed that he had to have you there as well!”

Jaylish’s eyebrows furrowed and then softened as he spoke, “Really? That’s, well, I am certainly thankful to hear it!”

Privately he began to congratulate himself that his drinking and vague carousing with Lord Titos was somewhat paying off.

Then he looked back towards his friends who were watching from afar, “Truly I am!”

His expression appeared pained as his voice dropped, “And I want you to tell your master that. I respect Lord Titos immensely, and I am glad of his confidence.”

Elianna raised a brow, wordlessly asking: ‘but?’

Jaylish looked to Riccard and then the high-elf before continuing. “But I’ve a previous engagement I’ve sworn myself to.”

He nodded to his friends, “My mates- I mean, my men and I were going to be taking our horses and doing some hunting before sundown.”

Jaylish sighed and awkwardly avoided Elianna’s disappointed gaze. “So… I must-“

Elianna quietly coughed and raised her voice, “Please my lord, I’m here to formally invite you to come with me to the villa. Lord Titos asked me to tell you it was a perfect way to thank you for your _kind words_.”

Jaylish smile dropped and his cheeks reddened, “I…” he turned to the bodyguard at his left and the man shot a look at his charge of confusion.

“Well, I…” he laughed nervously.

Elianna hid a smile, ‘The boy is hopelessly lost at intrigue…’

“I’d be remiss to spurn the friendship and generosity of the Naguii… If I may tell my men?”

The high-elf bowed and smiled; “Of course, I avow it shan’t be all evening.”

Jaylish smiled half-heartedly, “Right.”

He stepped away from Elianna and her party.

The high-elf watched as the Kalenside made his way to his friends and hastily explained the situation.

They laughed, smacked him on the shoulder, and jeered as he turned back and made his way to the Naguii entourage.

‘Doubtless, if he has any wits, he’ll have made provision that they inform his family of his new movements…’ Elianna drew a breath, ‘Ugh… this could be ugly Titos. Gods above don’t let this blow up in our face.’

He nodded as he stepped towards her, “Alright then, lead on.”

Elianna smiled and bowed. Jaylish’s men nervously eyed their lord and then the Naguii men, obviously uneasy at the turn of events.

The high-elf sniggered privately as she thought about her ‘family’. If she were a slave of a lesser house, would she have enjoyed such a conciliatory attitude from a highborn? ‘Thank the gods the Naguii command as much dread respect in this city as they do… otherwise this’d be a _real_ chore.’

…

She spoke with the young man until he was more at ease, and when they departed the tower and began down the main street of the noble quarter Jaylish’s curiosity got the better of him.

He spoke as he indicated Riccard, “How did Titos come to own such a beast?”

His men laughed behind him and Riccard grumbled as he led the party down the road.

Elianna nodded and smiled as she looked at her charge, it was one of the most common questions she got from guests. “It’s an interesting story I’m told. But I regret that I am not one for telling tales, Lord Titos rejoices to regale it though. Perhaps you may ask him at dinner?”

She smirked at her series of lies and Jaylish’s nervous expression at asking his host such an impertinent question.

The Kalenside highborn retreated and appeared to be preparing another question when Elianna decided to take charge and change the subject quickly.

“So, how does the Kalenside family fare my lord?”

He nodded and cleared his throat, subconsciously happy to have attention given to his blood.

“Well! Very well in fact, one of my sisters has married the Vaulknar of Karond Kar; naturally my father is quite pleased.”

Elianna nodded politely, “And yourself my lord? Was it not Araby that you sailed to during your Hakseer?”

He smiled happily, “Indeed! Indeed it was.”

The high-elf sighed as she thought of Raveres, “Would you indulge me my lord? I’ve never been, and well…” she laughed and sighed. “It seems such a strange place, even by the name! Araby? Ha!”

Jaylish nodded, and smiled.

Despite his nervousness and his youthful appearance he did actually complete his Hakseer, and more than that, he boasted of having establishing a permanent trade relation in the far off land.

He cleared his throat as he began, “Well, it’s a strange land to be sure. The flora is most distressing, no trees like ours could grow there, and instead there are these strange swaying trunks with fronds atop their crest. ‘Palms’ they are called.”

“The water is ‘warm’ ha, warmer than ours certainly. And it never freezes. Rivers, the sea, inlets, all manner of water remains moving all year round.”

Elianna, who’d grown up knowing only Naggaroth furrowed her brow in genuine incredulity.

Jaylish smiled, “Aye, and the ground is not solid earth, instead is made mostly of sand; miles of it, as far as the eye may see.”

“There is no one ‘Arabyan’ nation, instead there are hundreds of petty kingdoms and warring tribes, quite easy to spite and set against one another. Allegedly there are Dwarves and Bretonnians who call the place home but, I never encountered any.”

Elianna nodded, “And, forgive me my lord. But how did you come to secure your current trade route?”

Jaylish smiled at the attention turned to him, and his ego swelled, “Quite easily actually… The prince of the city whom I was intending to trade with proved to be…”

The Kalenside puffed his chest subconsciously and finally appeared competent, and subsequently _threatening_.

“A fool, shall we say?”

He laughed privately and shook his head, “Not like it’ll demean or tarnish my success but, the truth is I actually helped install his sister as ruler of the city!”

Elianna opened her mouth in surprise, playing at the supplicant and determined to be impressed with whatever he was to say.

He laughed at her expression and started to explain, “Oh it was so easy too! But anyway…” he cleared his throat and calmed himself before being taken with a superfluous story.

“She agreed to provide me and my ships the choicest slaves from their markets and ample goods to trade.”

He smirked, “Stupid humans…”

Elianna laughed as she agreed, “Indeed.”

They arrived at the outer steps and courtyard of the Naguii villa, the high-elf waved to the door guards and began leading Jaylish in as if it were any other guest and on any other normal day.

…

“And that is what ought to follow when you’ve command of a force of troops.”

Raveres furrowed her brow as she considered the lesson she was receiving.

Sir Jean sipped from a cup of water as the two sat in the guest bedchamber which had been lent to the Bretons; Jacque was reading from his book and periodically looking up at Raveres with a smile. He appeared as if he wanted to say something but each time he got close he’d retreat and shove his nose back into his book.

“But discipline?” she asked, “Perhaps your proposal works among your self-flagellating and ball-broken lesser knights, but I do not believe it would work among my fellow Druchii!”

Sir Jean finished his drink and shook his head at her foul mouth, “Think on it. If you lead by such an example, and sparingly utilise the lash, or rod, then your men will love you for it.”

Raveres noticed her curses and pursed her lips as she bowed her head penitently.

The knight cleared his throat, “Look at it like this; I know it is far different in the thick of it to be commanded by a woman. _But_ follow it,”

The Druchii sighed as she listened.

“A man is best as ‘a father to his men’, a friend, a benevolent brother. You share their hardships, shoulder their burdens, and take the same punishments and lickings as they. They will follow you no matter their race or creed.”

He nodded, “Be their mother.”

Raveres smirked and averted her eyes nervously. As the night had crept on, and as the two had been talking she began ceding more and more to her tutor and companion. As if by training she mentally reacted to his words and voice like her father, or one of her sword instructors.

Sir Jean smiled at her expression and leaned forwards, “Aye! If that’s what it takes! Mother, lover, sister, no matter! Play those roles!”

She laughed earnestly and shook her head.

“Play upon their inborne natures and use it to turn the tides of battle. I watched you during the encounter with those Red-Riders in the desert.”

Raveres nodded and became serious.

“The men watched you too, and if they knew you? They would never have routed without you.”

She didn’t quite believe him, but she understood what he was intonating.

He took another drink and nodded, “It’s a fine line to trod, but you must let them see a little of what they must, a little of what they want and none of what makes you human…” Raveres arched a brow.

Sir Jean laughed, “Makes you Druchii, mortal, like them.”

She nodded with a smile, “I think I understand more of what you mean… But it’s so strange to me.”

She shook her head, “What about blood? Slaughter, and just… just pure wroth? Being so fiersome that they will be bound in service by fear! If their oaths are not enough…”

Sir Jean appeared pained, “That may work… for a time. For a while and it would work if you were a Viking leader, or a chaos champion.”

He leant back, “I can only share what I know. And what I know is that the knights who do that, the dukes, barons, counts who do that… who become consumed with such a desire for battle and blood, they exhaust their men. They end up leading no one, and they end up destroyed.”

Raveres sternly considered his words and clasped her hands together tightly.

“Think upon this; outside of a few exceptions who _appear_ to command and lead the way you describe, how do the lords of the Druchii compose themselves in war. The great ones, the legends…”

Raveres sighed and leant back wearily, “They’re composed… Reserved.”

“Meticulous?” Sir Jean interjected.

She nodded and then shook her head in a groan.

“Then why the falseness? The misleading?”

Sir Jean chuckled and shared a knowing smile, “A good way to get rid of pretenders I imagine. An attitude like that is probably good among the rank and file of your Druchii soldiery. Not exactly what you want in the general’s tent…”

Raveres furrowed her brow as she stewed in the revelation.

Sir Jean sighed and waved his hand to get her attention, “Do not be so sullen, you have learned much so far… The humility you have experienced and the fact that you have not been slain ought to give you pause. All you need continue to do is heed the lessons being given you.”

She opened her mouth and was about to complain when he raised his hand and shook his head, “I don’t mean me…”

Raveres tensed and grumbled.

Sir Jean rose and waved a finger somewhat playfully, “Ah ta ta! None of that; merely accept it and make a resolution.”

She looked up at the knight and wanted to roll her eyes but stayed herself.

“Now, we are on the eve of battle… I don’t know how or what your people may do the night before but I must pray.”

She nodded and rose from her seat.

Sir Jean looked at Jacque and smirked, “Before you leave,”

Raveres turned and rose an eyebrow quizzically.

“Jacque would like to share something with you.”

She tilted her head in confusion and narrowed her eyes at the boy.

Sir Jean switched to their language and the two shared some words before the youth immediately began to protest.

Eventually the knight won out and the squire stood from where he was sitting. Nervously he looked at Raveres and cleared his throat.

His cheeks began to flush red and he gripped his book tightly as he opened his mouth.

“I would like… to, a-address you… for-mor-ally in thy speech of own.”

Raveres’ eyes widened in surprise and she took a half step back as she straightened. A smile bloomed across her features and she chuckled in disbelief.

Jacque’s face became beet red and he stuttered as he bowed his head, “I-I am Jacque, squire-servant, and humiliated-“

Sir Jean whispered to him and Jacque shut his eyes as he shook his head nervously, “H-humbled… to finally declare mine-self to thy-self.”

He looked at Sir Jean and the knight smiled approvingly. The youth exhaled heavily and Raveres tilted her chin up and clapped in approval.

“Very well done…”

Sir Jean smirked as he looked at the Druchii, “He learned from that book of his, with only an occasional question from me.”

Raveres pursed her lips and tried catching her smile; she bowed to Jacque, and spoke slowly as she repeated the old refrain to the antiquated greeting.

Jacque’s face lit up as he recognised the words she was speaking.

Sir Jean and Jacque both bowed as Raveres turned to leave. Taking hold of the door’s handle she smiled again though her body language seemed somewhat awkward.

“Good night.”

…


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raveres gains a retainer, Elianna is rescued, and the mission begins.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Fourteen

Jacque awoke with a nervous start.

Clutching at his sheet he calmed himself down enough to quiet his breathing.

Sir Jean was wearing nothing but his braies.

He was looking out the window of their room and breathing deeply.

Dawn was just creeping over the horizon and sunlight was beginning to show itself.

Without moving his head around the knight spoke.

“The morning of battle… You never sleep soundly.”

Jacque looked towards his master’s scarred back and gulped.

Sir Jean turned ‘round and rubbed his scruffy chin.

His chest was more heavily scarred than his back, and Jacque saw that his master’s skin had been marred by nearly every weapon he knew of: Sword, mace, hammer, arrow, bolt, lance, spear, billhook, halberd…

Sir Jean had been wounded at least once by every one of them.

Jacque had seen his master shirtless before, indeed as his squire he’d dressed him hundreds of times.

But right now, in the morning light, Sir Jean’s muscled body didn’t look strong. He didn’t look knightly.

He looked old.

He looked tired.

His chest hair was almost all grey now, and his beard was showing much more salt in it.

“Get up my boy.” He said with a nod.

“Shall we shave?”

Jacque nodded and threw off his sheet as he slid out from his bed, and then the words hit him; ‘shall _we_ shave’.

He furrowed his brow and rubbed his own face. It was smooth and bore only light blonde ‘fuzz’.

“Master, what would I need to shave for?”

Sir Jean chuckled as he stepped towards a washbowl he’d already made ready.

“Come here, I shall do yours first.”

Jacque’s face could only barely make ‘surprise’ as he struggled to speak.

“W-wha I? But… Sir?”

“Sit my boy! Come on now, we must be ready.”

Jacque nodded and sat in one of the chairs that Sir Jean had moved around and re-set.

The washbowl was steaming with freshly heated water and Sir Jean wet a small piece of soap.

The boy couldn’t help but feel confusion as his master played at a barber and directed him around.

He laughed as the bristles of the application brush wet and lathered on his skin, and Sir Jean smiled.

“Okay, now hold still my boy.”

Bringing his razor to Jacque’s neck he began ‘cutting’ the hair. Mostly he was wiping the froth away, but he smiled and the boy smiled back.

“Now… A very long time ago.”

Jean flicked the razor, “I was a squire too.”

He nodded before moving to Jacque’s right side.

“And my lord had me shave him the morning of any ‘major’ battle.”

He scoffed and leant closely while pausing to concentrate.

“What’s a ‘major’ battle you may ask?” he chuckled again, “I thought the same myself when I was younger…”

He coughed, “So I asked him,”

Sir Jean stepped back and furrowed his brow as he addressed his former master, comically exaggerating his expressions and voice, “MY lord? _Why the shaving?!_ What’s a _major battle?_ ”

He smiled to himself and Jacque laughed loudly.

Then he furrowed his brow and turned back to his squire before continuing.

“A major battle, he told me, isn’t one determined by numbers.”

Jacque remained still as Jean shaved his ‘moustache’.

“A major battle is one filled with people counting on you, one where you change in yourself as you write a page in the book of fate…”

He smirked, “one where you feel the Lady with you…”

Sir Jean paused and he removed the blade from Jacque’s face. He stared into his squires eyes and the boy stared back.

“Do you understand?”

Jacque nodded, “I think… I think so.”

The knight’s lip pursed and he held a breath tightly.

He nodded in approval before leaning back and grunting.

Jean held out the razor and cleared his throat, “Clean the blade, clean your face, we must make ready.”

The boy furrowed his brow as he complied.

Sir Jean stared to their side out the window. And Jacque swore he could see his master’s stern face and hard eyes glisten.

…

Raveres shed the soft and heavy sheets of her bed and rose with a groan.

Her arms felt stiff and her body slowly loosened.

She’d slept in the nude, as was her habit, and when she stood she threw her head back and stretched out her arms.

Looking down her right arm she saw the wound that she’d earned when she lost her ship.

It healed as best as it was going to and had left a three inch purplish scar across the middle of her bicep.

She snarled and grumbled as she looked away.

“I fear I’ll be getting a few more of these before I return home.”

Raveres let out a breath and looked towards the balcony and windows.

“Sun’s up…”

She began rubbing her eyes and a yawn overtook her before abruptly stopping as the weight of the observation hit her;

“The sun’s up!”

Turning quickly she searched for her clothes and armour. Before retiring to sleep she had ‘played’ with her cuirass; rubbing it down and wearing it while exercising with stretches and lunges.

She’d left it in a pile along with her cleaned trousers and blouse on the ground at the foot of her bed.

“By Khaine’s cock when were we supposed to meet anyway?!” She swore and shook her head as she began pulling her trousers up her legs.

While Sadalsuud’s ‘gift’ of the silken lingerie was utterly soft and pleasant to wear, she didn’t like the idea of her womanhood touching anything associated with the Arabyan. The dark dress and underwear lay in a pile nearer the doorway of the room.

She shuddered and shook her head as an intimate image of Sadalsuud came to mind. “Gah! No!” she snapped, ‘out, out! That is not what I want to see! _Elianna… Elianna,_ sweet gods above never let me forget her flesh.’

Having forced the near-revolting mental image of a nude Sadalsuud from her brain she instead began wistfully thinking about the blonde Asur slave.

A rap at the door tore her from the pleasant daydream and she nearly lost her balance.

“Y-yes?! Who’s there?”

She tied off her trousers and reached for her blouse as a familiar voice spoke in Druhir.

“It’s Yurin my lady… The knight and squire are readying themselves and are in the hall, they’re awaiting you.”

She nodded as she brought the shirt over her head.

Yurin hadn’t come to her room last night… In fact after she left the Bretonnians she didn’t see another soul down the palace’s corridors the whole evening.

She was so tired that after she did her stretches and shed her clothes she’d crawled into bed, absentmindedly having forgotten that she was supposed to have been expecting him.

Raveres took a breath and cleared her throat as she straightened her blouse. ‘Sternness Raveres.’ She told herself, ‘You are in command.’

Clearing her throat noiselessly she leveled her head and ever so slightly narrowed her eyes at the doorway.

“You may enter.”

The man hesitated for a moment before drawing the handle and pushing the door open.

Yurin was dressed in light leather jerkin, the colours of which were the same as Sadalsuud’s personal guards; underneath it he wore a plain cotton shirt, and leather vambraces.

‘A requisition from the palace armoury I’m sure.’ She thought with a private smile.

His pants were simple cotton hosen, but obviously well-made and above that of peasant quality. At his hilt were two thin swords, one shorter than the other. Along his belt were a few pouches and a small water skin. Over his right shoulder, and crossing his chest, was the strap to a small pack.

‘For not knowing anything about warfare he seems far better equipped than I expected.’ The Druchii thought.

His face was blushed and he averted his gaze, embarrassed, as he stepped forwards.

Raveres’ eyes had widened and she smiled sadistically behind her hand.

“Well… looks like you’ve decided have you?”

Yurin held his tongue before eventually nodding.

“I have… Most of my personal effects have been packed away and they’ll be ready to leave the city if you’d be willing to give me leave to see to it…” he cleared his throat, “When it comes time for you to… well to leave ‘properly’ that is.”

Just then a sadistic thought came across her mind and she did her best to stifle her devilish grin, “What’s to say that my offer still stands?”

The human’s face dropped and his cheeks reddened like ripened fruit.

“W-wh I… I.” he began stuttering.

Unable to keep up her façade Raveres howled with laughter and shook her head.

Regaining her composure she grunted and coughed before becoming plain and serious as she was before. Drawing a breath she waved him forwards, “I suppose that’s acceptable. Now help me dress.”

Yurin’s brow was contorted in dismay and he hesitantly stepped into the room. His expression showed that he at once realised his error, and also that some form of retribution was acceptable for making a noble lady wait.

But he did not enjoy the laughter at his expense.

Yet Yurin was bookish and meek, and Raveres was tall, confident, a warrior, and more than that; nobility.

As it stood he wasn’t about to voice himself to her.

She moved her arm behind her and scratched at a patch on the back of her neck. As she ran her nails up her skin she felt the chain of her necklace. It reminded her and she cooed.

“But first _oaths_ … come here.”

She half turned while bending over to pick up her sword.

Yurin eyed the blade uneasily as he walked towards the centre of the room. His expression of apprehension wasn’t helped when Raveres sternly ordered, “On your knees.”

He hesitated, visibly gulping, and she laughed, “Fear naught, I shan’t hurt you.”

Yurin didn’t appear entirely convinced but he knelt all the same. Bewitched, like so many others, by the terrible beauty of a Druchii.

His mind raced as he madly thought, ‘if she ordered me to nearly anything it’d be hard to refuse her…’

Raveres pressed the tip of her sword against the floor and held it in place with pressure from only her index finger.

Her mind raced as she tried to invent an acceptable sounding oath, having never done a retainer’s oath of allegiance before.

The only other time she’d ‘bought’ property was under duress and so at present she struggled to come up with a convincing voice.

‘You’re in command.’ She reminded herself, ‘Look at him! He’s entranced.’

With a nod she began, “Do you swear yourself in service to me?”

Yurin looked up and nodded.

She smiled, “So you desire to leave this sandy place?”

The young man nodded wearily, “I do… Anywhere would be better.”

Raveres cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t quite know about that but-“

He nodded more enthusiastically, “Yes… I,” he hid an eager smile before looking up at her, “I wish to follow you, in your service.”

“Do you swear to serve me faithfully?”

In his mind he screamed; ‘of course!’ but his voice came out even and calm, “Yes.”

“Swearing to defend both the honour of my person and that of my noble house in Naggarond?”

‘Yurin!’ his mind cried, ‘Really think about it! This is different than the pep-talk we had in our cell last night! _Think about it! Naggaroth!_ The frozen land of the dark elves… the Witch King…’ the inner, reasonable, voice of his mind began searching through every piece of horrible lore he’d read about the lost Asur children of Naggaryth but…

On his knees, looking up into the disarming, _magical_ , gaze of a female Druchii he _would_ do anything if she commanded him to.

With a nod he finally responded, “In whatever way I can.”

Raveres relished his almost reverent gaze and she leaned backwards as she asked a final question, expectantly looking forwards to his answer.

“Until death releases you or I see fit to dispense you from my service?”

At this Yurin visibly took the full weight of what he was doing. The spell appeared to be broken and his eyes fluttered. His mouth opened yet no words came out.

He averted his eyes and looked down at Raveres’ bare feet.

She watched him with interest, wondering all the while what was going through his mind.

Her skin was so pale that Yurin found himself tracing the blue veins which ran across the tops of her feet. His heart beat faster as he briefly considered the softness of her flesh.

He blinked and tried to think clearly but he desired only to be out from the place he was.

‘That’s a lie…’ a voice growled.

‘You want her don’t you?’

His cheeks felt hot, and he forced himself to shut his eyes.

‘You wish to serve, just so long as you might taste her?’

He exhaled and ignored the licentious words echoing in his skull.

Looking back up he nodded, “I do.”

The Druchii smiled and tilted her head, “Then it is done.”

The slight parting of her lips and the exposure of her white teeth shot through Yurin like an arrow and for himself he knew that his heart had been completely pierced; stolen by a woman he barely knew, of a culture so foreign and alien to him that she may as well have been a mythical fey.

Raveres wrapped her lithe fingers around the sword’s hilt and extended the blade, flat side up, towards Yurin’s face.

“Kiss it.”

The swift appearance snapped Yurin out of his daze and he swallowed a nervous breath before extending his neck and lips towards the blade.

The whole while he began thinking a mantra; ‘don’t embarrass her, don’t ruin this ceremony, she’s a Druchii, she could kill you for the slightest provocation!’

Raveres herself had no idea if this was really any good as a Druchii ‘oath’ of fealty but, she held back a deep sadistic laugh as she countered; _neither did he_

She watched him with pursed lips, doing her best to hide her pleasure with his total compliance at her order.

After the peck to the black steel he wiped his mouth and leaned back.

“I suppose you’re mine now Yurin…” she chuckled and motioned for him to rise.

His shoulders shuddered and he physically reacted to her words with a strange mix of fear and glee.

“Fail my trust in you and I’ll have more than one way of exacting retribution.”

He nodded profusely as he stood.

Leaning the blade against the bed Raveres finally indicated his swords with her left hand, asking a question which had bothered her since he appeared.

“I thought you told me you weren’t a fighter?”

He adjusted his belt and looked down at the blades uncomfortably.

His voice was somewhat breathy and far too elated for Raveres’ liking, but she chalked it up to his youth and fear.

“I, I’m not… I’ve had rudimentary training but…” He exhaled and his eyes filled with fear, “I’ll be honest my lady…”

His voice rose, “I don’t want to die; I’ll admit that my allegiance to you comes from a somewhat selfish desire…” his eyes widened at his slip and he added quickly, “I just want to ply my abilities!”

Raveres smirked as she walked towards her cuirass.

The young man nodded and took a breath as he recomposed himself, “I mean, you’re an adventurer a-and sure to be going to the many far lands of the world,” he laughed nervously, “It’s just, k-knowing so many languages a-and being stuck here with only unappreciative-”

“Yurin?”

He quieted and meekly responded, “Yes my lady?”

“Help me prepare, you’re not going to _die_.”

He gulped and exhaled loudly as he stepped behind her and took the breastplate she was offering him.

“As my first retainer, I _forbid_ it. Understood?”

He furrowed his brow and scoffed, “Well, let’s hope the pirates listen to you then and realise you’ve forbid my death ha-“

Raveres cold eyes silenced him and he quietly turned to, adjusting the straps and tightening the armour.

“There will be Arabyans a plenty to die first I’m sure. As well Sir Jean will be there,” she laughed, “Even that big fucker Asada will be there.”

She nodded and began pulling her hair back.

“Keep your head low, and use that brain of yours. You’re not going to die today.”

Yurin didn’t feel convinced but he quieted and realised she was giving him a moment of reprieve. An extremely generous gift from a noble to one of their servants…

She’d forgiven his nervousness and familiar tone, just this once.

‘You’re hers now you fool! Do you think she’ll forgive such impudence or stupidity again!?’

Raveres narrowed her eyes slightly and watched him with a knowing smile across her lips. “Squiring for a Druchii _woman_ … Never thought your life would take this turn would it?”

“Indeed not, my lady.” He quietly responded.

Yurin’s hands moved apprehensively and his face attempted to be clinical. But she could tell he was uncomfortable being so close to her, and ‘dressing’ her.

When he finally finished and stepped backwards, Raveres cooed to herself, ‘torturing this human is going to be an endless stream of entertainment.’

Flexing her hand and enjoying the tight grip of her gauntlet on her flesh Raveres picked her sword back up and sheathed it.

“There is one more thing to do…”

The young retainer’s face lit up and he nodded over-eagerly, “Aye, what is your will my lady?”

Raveres scoffed, “A little too much profession there Yurin…”

He looked down embarrassed and tried again, “What would that be, my lady?”

She nodded once approvingly, “Better.”

She pointed towards her eyes, “I can’t go into battle without paint. Find that servant-girl who helped me bathe yesterday.”

Yurin nodded curtly and turned towards the door, “I’ll be back swiftly my lady!”

…

Sir Jean eyed Captain Asada uneasily.

The gargantuan muscled man reminded him of a darker skinned Brother Sean, but where Sean’s eyes and expression were kind and penitent, Asada was wrathful and filled with spite.

Jacque was pacing nervously with his left hand on his hilt and his eyes towards the floor.

Loudly at the other end of the hall Jean heard the familiar voice and language of Druhir.

“Are we ready to wet our blades?” Raveres asked with a laugh.

Her hair was drawn into a tall, elvish-style, ponytail and her face was adorned with dark Druchii battle paint.

Her eyes had been shadowed and rounded with black smudge, accentuating her piercing gaze and the brightness of her pupils while two black lines had been drawn down her cheeks; from the rim of her eyes till they ended half an inch from her jaw.

At her side was the translator from yesterday, he was armed and armoured but appeared utterly uncomfortable to be so.

Asada’s expression faltered when he saw Raveres, and Jacque’s mouth parted open as he stared.

Sir Jean bowed politely, “My lady.”

Looking to Asada the gruff Arabyan ignored them and began walking towards the doors.

“Follow me…” he mumbled.

Passing out of the entrance hall Raveres raised a brow and looked around in curiosity at the nearly deserted palace.

“Sir Jean,” she began, “Where is Sadalsuud?”

She laughed, “I expected him to have been here to wish us off, and I expected him to have seen me away at least.”

The Druchii smirked, her attitude was strange to Sir Jean and he let out a chuckle of exasperation; ‘probably best to stop trying to pin her mind down… Perhaps the desert heat has scrambled her personality?’ he sighed, ‘In any case I suppose a Druchii is to an Asur as a Breton is to a Reiklander…’

Clearing his throat the knight stepped beside her and nodded, “Lord Sadalsuud is actually awaiting us at the docks.”

Raveres smirked as they stepped onto the wide landing and began descending the palace’s steps.

Yurin followed quietly behind and attempted conversation with Jacque. The young squire appeared eager and happy to finally speak with someone other than Sir Jean.

The knight smiled approvingly.

“We’re to ride there?” Raveres asked.

As if on cue servants led a train of horses into view at the base of the stairs.

Michelle, Sir Jean’s horse had been groomed and cleaned and she proudly trotted, displaying for all to see her broad muscles and scars. And to Sir Jean she looked just like a filly again.

He became lost in his memories as he looked at his towering Bretonnian steed.

The Arabyan horses, smaller and swifter than Michelle were built for the sands, and for harassing tactics.

But his girl, his eldest companion, she was made for breaking defensive lines, for carrying him and lance through the enemy, through the lists, ever onward.

She stood four hands higher than the other horses, and with her mane freshly washed and her coat brushed, she shone brighter than the mail and tabards which were draped over her.

Coughing he shook his head and wiped faux grit from his eye, “Aye, we’ll ride through to the docks and meet Sadalsuud down there.”

Raveres narrowed her brow at Sir Jean and was about to ask him another question when Asada interrupted with his booming voice.

“I shall lead you to the docks, follow me closely. When we board the vessel I will be in command.”

He easily mounted the first horse in the line and looked sternly at Sir Jean, “Make sure your witch knows her place. If she countermands my orders or dares to give me a word of backtalk I will remind her of her _womanhood_.”

Sir Jean furrowed his brow and held his tongue, ‘Now there’s a foul man to be sure…’

Mounting Michelle Sir Jean responded in Arabyan, “Captain Asada, I do not control her, but I can assure you I’d speak softly as concerns the Druchii.”

The man growled and pulled his reins tightly, setting down the palace’s promenade without waiting for the rest to be a-horse.

Raveres’ brunette servant appeared to be struggling to mount his steed and was relaying to her in Druhir what he’d overheard from Asada.

The she-elf’s shot a look past Sir Jean at the captain and then she met eyes with Sir Jean. She took in a breath and appeared to cool, but the knight knew that she wasn’t going to forget the man’s words.

…

When the party was mounted they cantered down the street after Asada and his brown mare.

Raveres was seething at Yurin’s words and she couldn’t hear anything of the small parting ceremony for the volume of her inner monologue. She couldn’t quite explain why Asada’s threat had offended her so much, but she resolved that she didn’t need much justification.

‘Perhaps this mission should be the captain’s last?’ she asked herself.

Sadalsuud loudly spoke from a small platform to a crowd as he waved to the dismounting party. Beside him and no doubt whispering through his beard the whole time was the ancient Wick’tus.

The people cheered and waved as Asada stepped down the quay and onto the Dhow. Raveres, encouraged by the crowd, straightened her back and stepped forwards confidently, all the while imagining the big captain falling over and drowning.

Watching the faces of the people as they bellowed their alien encouragement she began to forget revenging herself on Asada, and instead found herself reservedly waving back to the occasional spectator.

Behind her Sir Jean held his chin up and kept his hand at his hilt. As much as the people’s adulation made him want to break ‘face’ and smile he had to maintain his adherence to duty; they were going to battle, not a tourney.

Jacque’s cheeks were red as he saw young women eye him with faces of plain arousal, the hype, the moment, the sudden importance of the event had made people look upon these random strangers as heroes.

Sadalsuud’s loud and bombastic words of encouragement certainly helped to blow the significance of the event out of proportion.

‘We’re headed to bring a pirate to justice’ Jacque thought doubtfully, ‘yet you’d think we were heading to slay a kraken!’

He smiled and looked back at Yurin, repeating his thoughts almost verbatim.

The bookish translator nodded absently and appeared absolutely flustered and embarrassed to be in view of so many people.

Compared with Jacque one would think that the boy should have been the scribe and the young man the squire.

Sniggering to himself Jacque enjoyed the dichotomy.

As the group boarded a roar came over the crowd at the arrival of Prince Balik.

Accompanied by several personal retainers he came into view riding a camel, draped in red and gold coloured cloth. He waved happily to the people and Raveres looked at Sadalsuud.

The fat regent’s face dropped slightly before he began acting and putting on a diplomatic air. Wick’tus was invariably giving his regent advice on how to proceed.

Dismounting the camel Balik adjusted his light armour and waved while kissing at the crowd, ‘Probably imagining they’re his own people…’ Raveres thought with a smirk.

The Prince bowed comically to Sadalsuud and she could tell that he knew it was to be an insult.

Three retainers followed after the prince, each bearing a scimitar at their belt and similar uniforms of white-gold jerkins.

Balik mounted the ramp to the ship and immediately locked eyes with Raveres. His face lit up and he smiled, exposing his ivory teeth and cocking an eyebrow.

She cringed internally but offered the slightest nod in acknowledgement. ‘May Mathlann take him.’ She prayed.

“Sir Jean, any advice on how to deal with the prince?” she scoffed, “Again.”

The knight cocked an eyebrow and smirked, “Other than kicking the plank out from under him?”

Raveres sniggered and hid her amusement.

Sir Jean cleared his throat and resumed a serious expression, “Leave the prince to me, I’m sure he’ll want to butt heads with Asada.”

She nodded and turned to Yurin asking in a whisper, “Is that wine in your water-skin?”

Her voice seemed uncharacteristically abrupt and the retainer shook his head. “I-I’m sorry my lady but-“

She shook her head and he quickly silenced.

“We’ll be away soon, it’ll be fine.”

Some of the crew bowed their heads and were more enthusiastic in their addressing of Balik than Asada seemed to have liked.

Regarding the display before her Raveres noted it with interest.

‘Gods above they better not have any issues with fighting the pirates I swear.’

Curling her fingers in her hands the Druchii noticed for the first time the whole while, she was nervous.

She gulped and could feel the tightness in her skin and the beating of her heart.

“Annio…” she whispered.

Sir Jean raised a brow and leaned to her side, “Sorry my lady?”

Waving him off she shook her head and turned to look off the stern of the ship.

“Nothing.” She dismissed.

‘When I see that ship again, when I see those sails, I will _not_ fail.’

Under her breath she prayed, “Khaine guide my sword, that my vengeance be true. Mathlann? Bear us swiftly to my goal and I shall feed the waters red with blood.”

Digging her nails into the palm of her left hand as hard as she could she grit her teeth and quietly whimpered as she finally cut herself deep enough to draw her own blood.

Stepping to the rail of the ship she ignored the trumpets and the yells of the crew as they cast off.

Surreptitiously she extended her hand off the railing and tightened her fist as hard as the muscles would allow.

It burned somewhat and she held onto the rail tightly with her right hand as she forced a few, thin, drops of blood to drip from the edge of her palm and fall off the ship.

“I know this is a paltry token… But I swear to you, my gods, that I will fulfill this bargain.”

Sir Jean stepped to her side, “There are a few small things I feel we should discuss…”

His voice trailed off as she focused on her prayer, but she nodded along and gave the appearance of her attention.

‘Nothing will stop me from taking that man’s head’ she thought, ‘And _no one,_ will tell me what to do with his crew.’

…

Elianna had finally been given reprieve to rest and wash herself.

Lord Titos allowed her as much when he bellowed a greeting to Jaylish and dismissed her from her duties. Beside Elianna’s master was the dark-skinned human Tiana.

The high-elf usually would have fought to continue hosting, to ‘stay involved’ and to remind everyone of her importance. She knew that the younger human was being ‘broken-in’ for hosting guests, but…

Elianna was exhausted, and as if all at once, her fatigue, hunger, and weariness came on with immutable force when Titos gave her leave.

After bowing and departing the main hall of the Naguii villa, the high-elf slunk down one of the servant’s corridors and barely made it down the service stairs.

The warm scents of the ever-busy kitchen enveloped her and she felt as if she would have crawled to get some warm food.

Turning the corner to the servant’s dining room she stopped at the sight before her.

Almost half of the Naguii’s total guard were there, chatting and eating, jeering and smacking one another. They were all in their armour, with weapons either leaning close by or in their sheaths at their belts.

Helmets sat on benches reserving seats, or were arranged in pyramid piles on the floor. Bright mauve and white plumes, the Naguii’s household colours, grew out the back of the helmets and gave the appearance of strangely coloured bushes.

A few took notice of her and either raised their eyebrows in interest or nodded in acknowledgement.

Before she could formulate a plan of action one of the men announced; “Oh! What a generous lord is ours!”

A fellow of his continued the sentiment, “He’s given us a pre-battle surprise!”

Several men laughed, some sneered, and a few, the more lowly of the Naguii’s employ, licentiously eyed Elianna up.

Half stepping back she jingled the bracelets around her ankles and furrowed her neat eyebrows with indignity.

“I’ve never ‘ad sweet meat before!” one heavily accented Druchii declared with a laugh. Several chuckled along but quickly a voice nearer the front responded; “Oi, and you never will Hycinus!”

At this there was a roar of laughter and two men stood as they reached for Elianna.

Her eyes widened and she began protesting, hitting her thin and dainty hands against the men’s vambraces.

“Unhand me! You low-born wretches!” she cried.

Her expressions and futile protestation elicited more laughter and entertainment from the men.

She looked around wildly as she was drawn closer and deeper into the group of rowdy Druchii men.

“I am lady-slave to Lord Ti-“ her protest stopped and a screaming filled the air, at first Elianna didn’t realise that it was her. But she began lashing out as violently as she could muster. The men easily held her arms and lifted her onto the long table in the centre of the room.

Hands came at her from all directions…

Wrapping themselves in her hair, caressing her skin, scratching her, pinching.

The sound of her dress tearing was drowned out by the jeering and triumphant jubilation of the ravenous men.

Elianna was screaming as hard as she could muster and her eyes became filled with water.

Then the noise of the men died down.

She was whimpering and trying to curl herself into a ball as she wept, but she heard her name.

It was a familiar voice but in all the excitement she couldn’t recognise it.

The men parted and she saw the face of her would-be saviour.

The voice was snide and high-pitched, “I don’t recall my father giving you men leave to enjoy his property?”

The Naguii guardsmen parted and stood aside at attention as they quieted and the moment of lust and revelry soured.

“She said that Titos-“

The young Druchii slapped the man closest to him who was speaking.

The guardsman averted his eyes and corrected himself, “Lord Titos was going to be granting us a boon.”

The young Druchii straightened and looked over Elianna at the other soldiers.

“Oh, by all means. But… did she say that she was to be this boon?”

The men were silent.

“Did she come down the stairs and declare; oh you ravishing soldiers of the night, _please… please make me bowlegged!_ ” his falsetto and mocking voice elicited a few nervous laughs from some of the men, but a shot of his indigo eyes silenced them.

Elianna whimpered and did her best to remain quiet, but she couldn’t help but stare pleadingly at the youngest of the Naguii family.

Narien Naguii was flippantly referred to as ‘the runt of the litter’ by some of the slaves and servants, and indeed at seventeen years old he was quite small for a Druchii.

In addition to his thin waist and lack of muscle, his hair oddly whitened at the tips.

As soon as it got a certain length his jet-black hair would grey and age before becoming brittle and breaking off. It was all swept to one side and off his face, yet every time he scratched or ran his fingers though to push it off his brow one could see the small needle-like strands snap off and float away.

Elianna knew he hated it, she knew enough of the young Naguii that he resented almost everything about himself, from his hair to his family name.

Yet right now it was only that name which was sparing her from what these soldiers desired to do to her as ‘sweet meat’.

As so she stared pleadingly at the young man.

Finally he met her gaze and he momentarily held it. His expression gave no indication of his action and Elianna felt a fool for even entertaining the idea that he would show her mercy.

Even she had referred to him disparagingly, or given him shortness in her answers she’d never have given to anyone else in the family…

Yet she hoped that he would have forgotten those moments, a lifetime of being the lowest-born of the family, just to spare her now.

He looked away without giving any indication of his thoughts.

“In any case she’s my father’s to do with as _he_ pleases.” He smirked, “I am my father’s son, so if anyone in this room were to have a right to her…” he looked from man to man as he grinned comically.

“Why… That’d be me.”

Stepping forwards she saw that behind the small Naguii was the colossal Norscan Valar; brother to Riccard.

Elianna would have laughed, ‘that’s the only reason these men are really listening to him I wager… they don’t want to deal with that big fucking animal.’

Narien ‘tisk-ed’ with his tongue as he got closer to the high-elf, “Valar? Pick her up and bring her to my chamber.” A quiet groan of disappointment rolled through the back rank of men.

Without a word the human stepped forwards and easily scooped Elianna up, bridal-style, in his trunk-like arms. In one motion the human turned and was about to leave when Narien interrupted, “Wait wait…”

He indicated Valar was to lower so Narien could reach her. Reaching forwards Narien took hold of the ripped section of Elianna’s dress and pulled.

She yelped quietly as her bare breasts came into view and the men chuckled and rumbled with a sadistic appreciation.

Narien smiled at the men and reached under the bottom of Elianna’s skirt.

She shut her eyes and bit her lip to remain quiet, but she shivered and shook in fear all the same.

Narien’s rough fingers and sharp nails scratched her skin as he reached between her legs and pulled at her undergarment.

It dug into her skin and she shuddered as he continued to yank her silken thong free.

With a rip the article came loose and Narien held it up triumphantly.

The men roared with appreciation and disbelief, hooting and jeering.

Narien smiled widely as he brought it to his nose.

The men were in states of amusement, laughing, smiling, or enviously gritting their teeth.

The young Naguii took a deep breath and sighed, “It’s a little wet?”

With a single motion he tossed the underwear to the men and they immediately set upon one another to catch it, loudly roaring with laughter and shouts.

Giggling to himself Narien turned from the chaos he’d made and pointed back down the hall. Valar turned and led the way while Elianna quietly sobbed and hid her face in her hands.

The young Naguii followed before smacking Valar on the buttock, “Take her to my room; I’m getting something to eat.”

The human grunted and the Druchii slipped into the bellowing mansion kitchens.

As soon as they were in the stairwell Elianna’s weeping became audible, her cries echoed off the stone walls of the round stairs and Valar stared ahead, purposefully ignoring his passenger.

When they reached the door to Narien’s room Elianna had regained control of herself enough to stop crying but her lip still quivered.

‘What more was to come?’ she thought fearfully.

While she’d served the family all her life it wasn’t until this moment she realised just how little she thought of or interacted with Narien.

Though she knew he was an odd boy, he often kept strange pets, apparently feeding them the rats or the mice which he’d have caught in the cellars. She also knew that for the longest time he had wanted a Nauglir for his name-day. Titos would have none of it; cold ones were expensive even when you had the handlers and a stable to house them, but the sheer amount of meat that the beasts went through? Not a chance.

So the young Narien learned to stop asking.

After a while, he merely stopped interacting with his family, only rarely making his appearances when he had to.

When the door to the chamber opened Elianna shut her eyes, fearful of what horrible things she was going to see.

‘All the slaves said that he killed small animals… maybe he’s since moved on to larger prey?’

Visions of the temple of Khaine came back to her and she imagined that warped chains of black steel, braziers of glittering coals, and fresh blood streaks would be the adornment of the room.

She shivered and her throat tightened with a sob as she forced herself to open her eyes.

Valar was lowering her onto Narien’s bed and her initial fear melted into unease.

The room was surprisingly benign.

As soon as she was out of his arms the Norscan stepped away and out of the room, closing the door with a click.

The walls had been painted a light blue and there were a few book shelves and a writing desk in one corner. The room was well lit by several torches in arched sconces.

The bed was small and tucked into the corner opposite the desk. It had thick curtains and the sheets were plush, warm, and their scent indicated they’d been freshly laundered.

The room’s fireplace was licking several logs and she noticed a strange glass apparatus near the hearth, its contents were boiling and producing a light green vapour. The vapour then collected in a smaller orb of glass suspended inside the greater glass container.

She shook her head at the strange room and looked down at her tattered dress, she whimpered and tried to cover herself, but to no avail. The front of her gown was irrevocably ruined.

Cupping her hands around her shoulders she held herself in a hug, covering her breasts and trying to give herself some measure of comfort.

The door opened with a loud creak and she looked at Narien with terror; was he a new tormentor? Or was he actually allowing mercy into his black Druchii heart?

The young Naguii was carrying a plate laden with food across his left forearm, and he had a goblet of wine in his right.

When he entered he ignored Elianna and brushed several sheets of parchment off the writing desk to lay the plate down carefully.

Then he looked at the high-elf and smiled.

She sat backwards from him as he came to the side of the bed.

Sitting the goblet down on the bed’s end table he pointed at it and stepped backwards; “It’s a mild spice wine, I don’t quite like it but I’m told that the ladies really enjoy it.”

Elianna stared at him in disbelief.

He turned back to the desk and grabbed hold of the plate to bring it over, laying it carefully down on the edge of the bed, “I grabbed a little of everything that the cook had on. She grumbled and wanted to hit me with a spoon but,” he laughed, “I’m a little too old for that now aren’t I?”

The high-elf’s face tried to convey her thoughts, but she still couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Narien raised an eyebrow and stepped back towards the door.

Locking it he turned back and spoke again, “I think I know what you’re wondering.”

Elianna’s heartbeat began thundering in her chest as she breathed uneasily and froze still.

He stepped towards the bed and smiled again.

“But no, I have no desire to do _that_.”

He sighed as he studied her face.

Elianna didn’t know what to say or how to proceed.

“If you aren’t hungry then, I –“

He reached for the plate and the she-elf extended her right arm, continuing to cover her breasts with her left “No! I…I am I just…”

She lowered her head, “I don’t know what to say master…”

He nodded and stepped back, “I’ve got a tunic you can wear in the meantime. It’s not particularly flattering but, it’ll at least allow you some dignity while you eat.”

He giggled oddly and reached into a linen chest at the base of his bed.

‘Is this for real?’ Elianna thought, ‘Even Raveres wouldn’t have done as much as this…’

…

Sir Tormande held his helm tightly as he watched the Emir’s ship at the docks. The cries of the jubilant peasants irked him and he wanted to snarl.

The two ‘false’ knights stood leaning at the edge of the crowd, atop a street which sloped down into the curved bay of the city’s port.

Sir Cratoun tightened the bandage over his left eye and growled in pain as he asked, “When do we strike?”

Tormande squinted as he saw the she-elf stride _oh-so-proudly_ onto the deck of the swift Arabyan Dhow. Peasants unwittingly waved and stared adoringly at the exotic foreign creature.

‘If only they knew she’d hang them with their own entrails and see their children in chains.’

He rolled with disgust as the dark elf climbed to the aft of the ship, purposefully remaining in view of all onlookers. Her companions followed; the hapless elder knight, his squire boy, and a new human. Bedecked in the colours of the Emirate and two swords at his belt Tormande hid his expression.

“Soon…”

‘She’s got a ship, a full crew, and yet another companion? A representative of the Emir too?! Foul fucking _witch!_ ’ Sir Tormande boiled.

The crowd became louder as several mounted men paraded through the gate closest the ship.

At the fore of the new arrivals were a camel and an elaborately dressed fool.

Tormande knew him by sight as Prince Balik, or the ‘the pauper-prince’.

“My, my.” He announced with a hollow chuckle, “Her allies come from far and wide, don’t they?”

Cratoun sniggered.

Behind the two knights Sir Finise reluctantly stepped forwards,

“We can make use of the harbour master’s storehouse. It’s empty for the moment…”

Tormande nodded with a sadistic smile. “The brawlers from the tavern? Are they willing to play along?”

He turned and Finise held his breath while he nodded.

With a grotesque expression Tormande exhaled “Excellent.”

He cleared his throat and stepped away from the wall he was leaning against.

“We’ll wait for their return; hopefully their numbers will have been thinned, and then,” Tormande nodded to Cratoun, “We’ll kill that old fool, grab the bitch, and beat that boy senseless.”

The one-eyed knight bared his teeth in an evil grin while Finise shook his head.

“Look… Tormande.” He began, “Why don’t we at least try to get Lord Lucian to approve of our plan? Maybe come up with a more legitimate-“

Tormande reached forwards and wrapped his heavy gloved hand around Finise’s throat, ignoring the passing Arabyans.

“Shut your _goddamn mouth!_ If you had of had any ounce of spine in you we would have beaten that knife-eared cunt when we first met her, and Cratoun would still have his eye!”

Cratoun snarled and nodded in agreement.

Throwing Finise to the ground Tormande stepped over him and spat to his side.

“Fuck Lucian and that old Jean… He thinks because he’s from an age of errantry he’s better than us?”

Rolling his shoulders and stomping up the street Tormande’s fist trembled, “Elf-loving _traitor_ …”

Cratoun cackled like a hyena as he followed, “Bet she fucks the old fucker!”

Tormande smirked but also shook his head at his companion’s lack of creativity.

Cratoun continued to howl with laughter as they walked up from the docks and through the gate into the city again.

“Soft old prick… must be an elf-lover; since he knows their disgusting knife-ear language!”

Finise wearily came to his feet and ran his hand through his hair, ‘By the lady… what have I gotten myself into?’

As the other knights stepped up the street he called, “How will we know when they return?”

Sir Tormande laughed, “You’ll keep watch!”

Exhaling heavily Finise turned as the Dhow struck its lines and cast off.

The Druchii’s white hair shone brightly in the sunlight and she turned her head, surveying the crowd as they waved the crew farewell.

Beside her the knight and the Emir’s man spoke amongst themselves. At the edge of the ship’s quarterdeck a tall dark-skinned Arabyan bellowed orders so loudly Sir Finise thought he could hear it over the noise of the crowd.

Prince Balik seemed overjoyed as he waved enthusiastically at the people.

‘This isn’t going to work…’ Sir Finise thought with a shudder.

…

With the city a mere pinprick on the farthest edge of the horizon Raveres noted the shift in the wind.

Though her time aboard a vessel was only a few months, her education with the first mate and Lieutenant Hathan had shown her several things that she was now surprised to have retained.

The way that the water was flowing, the wind, the cloud movements, even the creaking of the ship itself. Raveres felt familiar with and subsequently in-tune with the ship.

She knew that she’d never become a full raider; she detested the sea, but she was at least confident that she knew more than the average land-loving noble. And as the men worked the rigging around her she felt odd.

If she shut her eyes she could almost imagine that the last week hadn’t happened.

Thinking about it enough she could almost hear Captain Dorath and his first mate shouting their orders and the whistling of the brutish Druchii seadogs.

_“There she is! Our golden lady!”_

Coming to the top of the ship’s steps and feeling the warm sun on her cheeks, the wind in her hair, she swore she had heard Dorath’s voice.

Looking fore to aft she confirmed that there were only humans to be seen.

‘Loathsome, humans’ she thought.

But hearing the friendly nickname, in Dorath’s voice, was a melancholic blow to her heart.

Since bearing witness to his death she realised that until now she hadn’t thought of, or _mourned_ , her former crew.

‘They fought well… but not well enough.’

She remembered that she had remarked as much to Sir Jean when they saw the wreck of _Witches Wail_ , her crew floating amidst the white-capped waves.

_Her crew…_

‘And how brief a command it was.’ a voice painfully threw at her.

Feeling her heels hit the wooden deck harder with each step; Raveres began to heat with anger.

‘Not now…’ she ordered, ‘leave me _be!_ I will see my honour restored, and I will see those cunts paid back for every drop of Druchii blood they spilt.’

_‘Especially mine.’_

‘I will see it. I will _see it done_ ’

…

Scowling and holding her arms folded across her chest Raveres stared off the bow of the ship.

After the excitement of their departure wore off it became plain that she wasn’t happy to be back aboard a ship, and her mood wasn’t improved that they were nearing the end of the day and hadn’t seen a single potential target.

She didn’t have the patience at the moment to keep a façade of compliance with Sir Jean’s ‘lessons’ and so she made no effort to mask her displeasure.

The result of this was that she received a wide birth from the rest of her companions, and especially the crew.

They feared her as if she were a sea-witch. Arabyans were a superstitious people to begin with and sailors too. The resulting combination of the crew made it so that some of the Arabyan sailors wouldn’t even get close to her shadow or touch it let alone meet her eye.

Even the most senior of the men aboard the ship avoided her gaze and would shoot her looks of contempt when they could.

“What does Asada think.” She asked, though her tone was such that it sounded less like a question and more like a venom-filled statement.

Sir Jean swayed uneasily and held the rail for support as he turned to look at the captain of the vessel.

Issuing orders and watching his men scurry about their work the dark skinned, mountain of a human; Asada glared over the deck at his passengers.

Prince Balik was loudly laughing and joking with his retainers and several crewmen.

Evidently the fraternisation had put Asada into a more foul mood than he usually was in.

Raveres followed up her question with a scoff, “Tell me knight, how does a poufy captain of the palace guard come to have such naval experience?”

“I’m told that he was a privateer or master of ships long before he came to be in Emir Hashan’s service.” The Breton swayed again and for a moment Raveres cooled and raised a brow in concern.

Both Yurin and Jacque were taking turns vomiting off the starboard rail. At first the Druchii found it entertaining, but the constant retching and useless state that her first retainer was in didn’t make her look favourably to his continued service.

The last thing she needed now was the only other speaker of Druhir, and her only other companion, Sir Jean to begin falling ill to the motion of the ocean.

The elder knight coughed and begrudgingly spat off the edge of the ship, “My apologies my lady.” His voice was uneasy but his rigourous sense of decorum still came through.

“But yes, as I said he was a sailor of some kind before he became the palace’s chief defender.”

The Druchii nodded, “So what does the sailor-turned glorified sentry think about our mission? Have you any indication of his strategy for finding our quarry?” She masked a growl in her words.

Sir Jean stepped closer and shook his head before smirking, “I think any hunting tips he’s not about to divulge to either of us.”

Pursing her lips Raveres shot a look down the ship at the idiot Prince Balik and the stern Asada.

Looking off the bow once more Raveres roared in frustration and Sir Jean noticed the twinge in her face, the tightness of her hands, the impatient tapping of her foot.

He steeled himself and his attempt at levity evapourated, his voice became serious, “Soon my lady.”

‘She was going to slaughter as many men as she was going to be able to…’ he thought apprehensively.

‘And I’ve agreed to help her.’

The gravity of his error came to roost and he stepped back as his brow furrowed.

“Raveres?” he asked.

She rolled her shoulder, but kept her body facing away from him.

Her voice was cold and bitter, “What?”

“After this I am returning with my squire to our homeland. Bretonnia.”

She visibly tensed before moving her head to the side. Barely able to see Jean out of the corner of her painted eye.

“And?” Her voice seemed less cold, and somewhat disappointed.

“I know this will sound ludicrous-“

She scoffed and interrupted, “I’m sure it will, but continue.”

“I wish I could teach you more… As you said yourself that day on the sands, you needed and you wanted my help.”

He coughed and stepped closer, “I would follow this…” he chuckled involuntarily, “I would teach you and tutor you to be knightly, to be _noble_ as I have imparted my Jacque…”

She furrowed her brow.

“Yet, I don’t know if it would do you any favour.”

Raveres finally turned to face the knight.

“You are a Druchii, not an Asur, not a Bretonnian.”

Her face was pensive and her brow tightly furrowed as she listened.

“I cannot change you.”

She blinked several times as she considered his expression and the tone of his voice.

“I-“ he stopped and exhaled unhappily as he lost his train of thought, with a half-smile he apologised, “sorry my lady. An old fool making no sense.”

She slowly raised a hand, “What do you mean?”

Stepping backwards the knight held up his arms, “Forget my words, we’re on the eve of battle and if the mind is allowed to wander it saps one’s focus.”

Her face actually seemed to relax and her expression became earnest and bordered on child-like as she pressed him, “Whatever do you mean Sir Jean?”

Turning towards the stairs to the lower deck the knight shook his head, “I must pray, we will speak later.”

The fact that Raveres cooled instantly and allowed him to leave spoke volumes to the subliminal paternal respect she was affording the knight.

She blinked and felt her ire subside in her heart somewhat.

‘Prayer…’

“Wait knight.”

Stopping on the first flight of the stairs Sir Jean turned an eyebrow raised in pensive contemplation.

A strange notion overtook her and she wanted to recoil at the words which came across her tongue, but her body felt compelled to speak honestly.

“May I join you?”

Sir Jean’s face immediately registered disbelief and surprise.

Stepping forwards Raveres continued, “I’ve a perverse interest in your young gods.”

The Breton smiled slightly, “I’m no monk or priest, but… Gods deserve their respect.”

He appeared to consider her request for a spell and then nodded.

“You may.”

With a submissive bow Raveres followed appreciatively.

‘Invocations of Khaine, Mathlann… why I’d prostrate myself before each of his gods if it meant my sword would be true and my victory assured.’ She smiled, ‘I’ll even make Malith jealous with my piety.’

Thinking of her eldest brother always made her envious, but if she could become more worldly and knowledgeable than even him in any respect it would be a victory.

…


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry to you, my AO3 readers! I totally thought I had posted this at the same time as my other site... I am absolutely desolated, ist tut mir leid. Here is the (massive) chapter 15. Please accept this apology and my heartfelt sorrow at my fuk up.

Chapter Summary: The Naguii court sees preparation for action and Raveres meets her foe.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Fifteen

Narien was whistling a vulgar drinking song as he stepped nonchalantly into the salon of the Naguii mansion.

The elegant room was adorned with paintings, furs, and the walls were intricately carved with columns and beasts.

The room’s fire was crackling and the curtains to the windows had been drawn.

It was one of the warmest and most seen rooms in the whole house.

At least three times a week Titos, or Lady Naguii, would entertain either petitioners, business relations, suitors, or any other such persons calling upon the family.

Everything about the room was to awe, intimidate, and inspire its guests.

The paintings were of either family members in their finery and dread armour, or of battle scenes. The beast heads carefully drawn out of the wooden wall panels were life like in both their painting and their carving; manticore, hydra, drake, harpy were set as the top of each wooden panel column.

These grotesque gargoyles looked down on guests, seemingly ready to pounce as soon as the lord or lady of the house was to give their word.

The expense and craftsmanship of the room’s construction was not the only way the Naguii intimidated; Lord Tito’s personal suit of armour stood on a rack to the side of the hearth and the orange light flickered off the black steel with an eerie effect, highlighting and washing over the scratches, dents, and brutal marring of his decades of hard battle.

Titos never had his armour repaired except to restore its bare functionality, he believed that the more worn and brutally damaged it was the more terrible an effect it would have, as if to say to onlookers: _If these wounds to my body haven’t killed me, neither will you._

In the centre of the room, arranged around the fireplace was a fine seating area; plush velvet couches and leather tall-backed chairs sat in a wide U. Between each pair of chairs was a small table for either drink glasses or plates.

Bowls filled with cut fruit for either man’s pleasure were on the tables closest to them, while one of the tables had two books awkwardly lying across it.

Lord Titos was sitting speaking with Jaylish Kalinside; the elder Druchii was seated in one of the tall-backed chairs nearer the fireplace and the guest was on one of the couches.

He wasn’t alone on the wide velvet; the human slave Tiana was beside him touching his shoulder and doing her best in attempting to replace Elianna.

At Titos’ side stood the Bretonnian slave Julé. She was holding a silver decanter of wine.

His father paused mid-speech upon his entry to the room and his expression seemed to ask him; ‘why now’.

Raising an eyebrow and feigning interest Narien barely gave the guest notice as he answered, “Just getting a few volumes father, don’t mind me.”

Blinking and holding his composure Titos indicated his youngest son and made an effort to mask his contempt as he introduced him,

“Jaylish, this is my youngest son Narien.”

Jaylish bowed his head at the neck and straightened in his seat politely, he made a slight smile of familiarity and his voice actually seemed genuine as he spoke; “Well met, I’m glad to finally have a face to put to the name; your sister always spoke fondly of you.”

At this Narien raised a brow in surprise, “Did she? Why, she must be one of the few of my siblings to acknowledge my existence.”

Jaylish’s face remained still but Narien was sure that he had made his father’s guest uncomfortable.

With a supressed giggle Narien stepped closer to his father’s side, “You see, of his sons the first took all the best out of our dread father. Both my other brother and I are disappointments… _Disgraces_ , rather!”

At this Jaylish looked at his host with a frozen face of embarrassment and apprehension.

Narien cocked a smile as he watched Jaylish, before turning to his father and asking, “Or is it that your middle son’s the disgrace and I’m the disappointment?”

Titos stood from his seat and with a single swift motion, brought his hand straight across his youngest child’s face.

Tiana was the only one to react and she let out a high pitched breath of surprise, quickly covering her mouth with her free hand and darting her eyes to the floor.

Jaylish blinked and picked his wine glass back up, awkwardly sipping at the dark liquid for reprieve from the second-hand embarrassment.

Narien stepped backwards, reeling from the hit. His hair had come out of place from the strike and his lip cracked from his father’s ring. A thin line of blood began to quickly ooze out and down his chin.

Bowing and stepping backwards with his hands at his sides he spoke, “I spoke too quickly father. A thousand apologies…”

Reaching forwards Titos took hold of Narien’s throat and slapped him once again with the back of his hand, although this time his ring cut across his eyebrow and the youngest Naguii let out a sharp groan of pain.

Throwing Narien to the floor Titos sat back down and held out his hand.

Julé put down the decanter and used the cloth she had wrapped around its silver handle to wipe her master’s fingers.

Without allowing his son’s impudence to ruin resuming his cadence Lord Titos continued; “I think it would be most advantageous to make this partnership known to your honoured father.”

Jaylish put his glass down and nodded hesitantly as the Dreadlord spoke, “I remember your father but only a little.” The Naguii patriarch smirked, “I’m not one for false praise or flattery. I am a martial man, and one of plain speaking.”

Jaylish smiled, laughing breathily as he attested “Aye, your reputation is well earned.”

Narien spat and rubbed his swelling lip as he stood, “Indeed.”

Titos shot his son a look of vehement rage.

“Forgive me for my interruption. Lord Father, honoured guest.” He punctuated both polite addresses with proper bows.

Then he took hold of two thin, leather bound, books from one of the small tables.

His hand shook as he leaned forwards. And he bowed his head again while nervously swallowing.

…

After a curt nod Titos continued, “My brother fought alongside your father quite often, being raised in the same host as one another. Though this, I’m sure you already knew.”

Jaylish nodded and tried to become comfortable again as his host continued, “I’ve only met him twice before.” Titos exhaled, “Both times were almost sixty years ago.”

“Though I regret that I must meet him on such strange, potentially _hostile,_ terms…”

Jaylish furrowed his brow.

“Whatever do you mean my lord?”

Ignoring his guest Titos stood and walked around the chairs towards one of the curtained windows.

“Jaylish, can I count on your assistance in this regard?”

Perking up the young Kalinside nodded eagerly, “Of course!”

Parting the thick material covering the window Titos peered through the barred glass at the small walled courtyard in front of his manor.

There were several shouts and Jaylish furrowed his brow, outside the room in the hall, after Narien left, he heard what sounded like boots and the clinking of armour.

The young Kalinside finally began to smell something amiss.

He rolled his shoulder making Tiana recoil; and took a deep breath as put his wine glass down. He cleared his throat and looked back at Titos.

Through the break in the curtain Jaylish saw white and purple plumes and something of a commotion outside.

“My lord, when are the other guests of your party to arrive?”

Lord Titos puffed his chest out and turned his head.

“Julé, Tiana.”

The slaves both nodded to their master, Julé stepped towards the door way and Tiana stood up and followed.

The Norscan Riccard and his brother Valar stepped into view, their broad chests blocking any exit to the hall.

Jaylish’s eyes widened and he shot up from his seat.

“By now I’m sure you’ll have realised this was a trick.” Titos held his arms behind his back as he stepped towards his bodyguards.

Jaylish hissed with betrayal and reached for his sheath, momentarily forgetting that he had disarmed himself of his short sword at the door.

Titos raised his voice and glared at his guest, “Stay your blade Kalinside! I do not wish a blood feud with your clan.”

Snarling and reaching for his dagger the boy drew the thin weapon as the Norscan brothers followed suit and readied their longswords.

“You agreed to help me, yes?”

Kicking the couch behind him over and out of the way Jaylish scoffed, “That was before!”

Tilting his head back Titos collected himself and stepped forwards.

“Lower your weapon boy and listen to me.”

Jaylish stepped backwards but shivered at the brazen confidence of his host.

“All you need do is remain here, for a short spell. I have made overtures to your father, but he’s stubbornly armed himself and retreated to his estate, demanding I court him in person.”

Jaylish swallowed and uneasily listened on.

“Naturally I would not ride out, numerically disadvantaged, and without certain _assurances_.”

Jaylish let out a breath defeated as he straightened out of his fighting posture.

“You need me a hostage…”

Holding out his hand Titos nodded, “Exactly.”

Jaylish eyed the hand uneasily.

“I have no intention of harming you. I’ll be honest with you, I _do_ still need you. Living and unspoilt.” Pausing for emphasis the older Druchii raised an eyebrow, “Many lives hang in the balance.”

Titos was doing his absolute best to speak the truth and he swore, “No ill will come to you, or your house, so long as you play along.”

Shaking his head the Kalinside exhaled petulantly, “Why?”

Tensing his jaw and realising the boy’s stubbornness Titos retracted his hand.

“I need your fathers’ informants; he knows who wishes my house destruction.”

Leaning back Jaylish smirked, “So you need _us_?”

“With his son in my custody and my men poised to ruin his holdings…” Titos exhaled and corrected, “ _We need each other_.”

Reoffering his hand Jaylish drew a heavy breath.

“There’s more I could do than wait as a hostage.”

Raising a brow Titos lowered his hand purposefully.

Jaylish sheathed the blade and his host nodded as he asked, “I’m curious… What might that be?”

…

The knight’s prayer was some of the most tedious time Raveres had ever spent.

Sir Jean had explained somewhat their cult of the Lady… But after a short spell the Druchii admitted that she just couldn’t do it.

It was far too humiliating a rite.

All this prostration, verbal self-flagellation, _humility…_

Her earlier enthusiasm was swiftly spent, and the tedium began to grate on her physically. But then a strange feeling of revulsion arose in her gut. At first Raveres thought that it was merely sea-sickness, or agitation from the ship’s luncheon. But as Jacque and Sir Jean continued their refrain of sacred words, in their alien tongue, the revulsion grew in its affect.

Interrupting them during a quiet moment in their liturgy she made an excuse that it was enough for her, and that she needed back to the deck.

Sir Jean appeared pensive but seemed understanding enough as she turned to leave.

Whispering to herself as she exited the cabin she agreed, ‘I think my attempt at such a display is piety enough…’

Her stomach began rolling over and over itself in waves.

‘M-maybe… _oh gods_.’ She complained.

A massive assault of nausea made Raveres turn to and keel towards one of the small portholes in the hull of the ship.

She hadn’t even gotten her hands clear of her mouth or her head positioned through the window before she began puking.

It was far more caustic to her throat and tongue than a normal illness and her skin felt hot in an instant. Yet once it was past her lips and gone from her body welcomed relief washed over her.

“Gah!” she exclaimed, “Gods below… these fucking _humans!_ ”

Rubbing her face with the back of her left, ungloved, hand she shivered and felt the malaise pass with the breeze.

Spitting the last of her earlier meal of gruel and dried meat out the window she snarled and couldn’t help but smirk.

‘Well… if there was any doubt that his _Lady_ watched over him…’ She laughed and turned back to the upper deck, “Then there’s certainly none now.”

The scent of her bile wafted towards her from the sill of the porthole and she shuddered, “I need fresh air… gods be damned these lower decks are too small!”

The ship seemed to her as if it were for the Dawi! The beams and the planking was such that she was forced to bend herself low in order to walk, and even when she sat she couldn’t find reprieve.

There were no highborn comforts to be had on this voyage.

She mounted the small staircase and began climbing the thin wooden steps as a voice echoed, ‘No wine… no baths… gods be good this isn’t longer than two days…’

Coming to the surface of the deck Raveres looked towards the aft castle and saw that Asada was no longer alongside the helmsman. Instead he had taken up a position at the bow of the ship. Yet he wasn’t alone in his vigil.

Prince Balik, his retainers, as well as several members the crew were standing all looking in the same direction.

Yurin was leaning against the mainmast, his face still green from the motion of the water, but he appeared to be well enough that he was drinking from his leather flask.

At the noise of additional feet upon the deck the translator turned, and upon seeing his new master he perked up and returned his water-skin to his hip.

Pointing to the commotion at the bow Raveres asked, “What’s gotten them worked up?”

The human translator shook his head and hiccupped, looking down in revulsion and apologising, “I… I’m so sorry my lady. I’ve never been aboard a ship before… D-does it get any better?”

The Druchii smirked, “For you? Soon enough”

Stepping closer she repeated, “Now, the crew?”

Yurin nodded, and immediately regretted the action.

Wearily he did his best to recompose and answer, “They seem to have spotted some kind of a beast or something… I-“ he retched and groaned, “I’m no sailor… ha, but I’ll come with you to enquire.”

Raveres nodded and raised a brow, ‘his dedication is admirable’ she smiled privately.

Confidently she began forwards, stepping along the deck some of the crew moved aside and averted their eyes from the Druchii. Behind her Yurin dragged himself along the rails, doing his best to remain level as the ship swayed and moved from side to side.

Prince Balik angrily shouted at Asada and pushed his hand against the man’s colossal bicep.

Raveres stopped mid-step and her face lit up in perverse excitement.

Yurin’s eyes widened and he clung to the rail uneasily as a wash of silence came over the men.

Asada began to rumble and turn as Prince Balik arrogantly remained still, his face one of privilege and utter disregard to his own mortality.

“He’s going to kill him.” Raveres whispered. She stepped forwards as her smile grew.

“Gods…” Yurin swore in Druhir.

Asada grunted a few words and Raveres darted a look over her shoulder at her retainer.

“He’s w-warned the prince that the fish may have a royal guest if he ever does that again.”

Raveres’ eyes lightened and she felt her heart beat faster.

‘Please do…’ she thought, ‘ _please do!_ With no sign of those damned pirates _it would make my day to see him drown!’_

Yurin cleared his throat and interrupted the tense moment as he spoke in Arabyan.

Captain Asada looked over at the Druchii and pursed his lips in disgust as he responded.

Raveres’ retainer began his skillful translation and repeated; “He says that they saw some debris in the water and rotten carcasses. The birds were feasting upon them, but other than that there’s not been anything to see since you departed.”

Raveres’ excitement dissipated when it became obvious that neither man lacked the sense enough to attack the other.

Thinking on it more she realised that while hearing and seeing these fools tear one another apart may be entertaining, the pirates might still retain numerical superiority.

Begrudgingly the she-elf had to acknowledge that she needed every living body aboard.

Looking from every man’s face the Druchii drew in a breath and straightened her back. Striding towards the men they parted to her left and right, except for Asada.

With a smirk she walked past the captain and began looking off the bow.

“Rotten bodies eh?”

Yurin repeated the question and a crewmember attested in confirmation.

Above them the distant calls of seagulls and other water birds sounded out.

Engorged on the choices parts of flesh they began flying home to their roosts.

Peering over the railing Raveres scanned the rolling waves ahead of them.

Sure enough, in the water, there were some floating boards and large ruined parts of muscle. She furrowed her brow; nothing floating looked recognisable as well… anything.

She looked around the water skillfully before tilting her head back up.

The sun was just a few inches from passing the horizon. And there appeared to be clouds and a light mist blowing across the sea from the north east.

Her eyes widened and she felt an awkward drop in her heart as she stared at the centre of the rolling clouds.

‘How did none of these fools see that?!’ she thought.

The men began to look at one another and whisper and talk when they saw that the elf had stopped moving, or breathing.

Asada spoke to the men and they began laughing at his joke.

Yurin furrowed his brow and felt somewhat ensconced by the Arabyan’s words, “He’s making light of you my lady. Saying that you’ve never seen night on the sea, and a… an entendre-“

“Yurin…”

Raveres’ voice interrupted her translator and he raised a brow nervously at her strange tone, “Y-yes mistress?”

“Tell them to beat to quarters now, we need to light lanterns and make ready for battle.”

Yurin’s face froze and he stuttered as she turned around bellowing; “Now you fool!”

The men’s laughter changed and petered out as they watched from Yurin to Raveres uneasily. Her sudden turn and shout made them half step back in surprise and unease.

She ignored the men and leaned back forwards, tightly gripping the rail as she narrowed her eyes and looked towards the blowing clouds. The more that the mist and fog began to come down to the water the more obscured the horizon became.

Yurin looked at Asada and relayed her orders.

The Captain incredulously looked at the translator before turning to look off the bow. He spoke gruffly, and Raveres could tell he was trying to be dismissive.

Her retainer translated, “He says that its mere wisps of cloud, maybe a light rain, but he’s never known pirates in these waters to attack under cover of rains or dusk.”

Raveres shook her head.

“This is exactly what happened to my ship… Yurin, you will tell him that those are not natural clouds, and that fog is not a simple occurrence of the sea. The pirate’s vessel is enchanted.”

Pushing herself off the rail Raveres turned and pushed through the crowd.

The men looked at her uneasily before they began to stare at the mist and fog, which at first appeared leagues away yet was steadily growing closer.

Yurin repeated her words and Asada turned and began scrutinising the horizon more seriously.

“I’m rousing the knight! He better get them ready Yurin _or I’ll take command._ ”

“But my lady! There’s not a ship to be seen! Surely that’s not what’s afoot?”

She began descending the small steps and roared, “Rouse them to battle now damn it!”

The human translator nervously nodded and bit his tongue. He drew a deep breath and prepared himself to repeat the threat and orders to Asada.

The swarthy Arabyan turned and spat at the deck as Raveres disappeared below, responding, “The day a _woman_ or an _elf_ takes my ship is the day that I become a sultan!”

The men laughed but Prince Balik furrowed his brow and spoke to his men.

In the crow’s-nest a man called down, vindicating Raveres’ words and making Asada’s face change from an angry grimace to a wrathful one. _“Ship ahoy! Nestled in the fog! She’s coming over the horizon!”_

Yurin tensed and Asada quickly began issuing his orders.

‘Gods above… here we go.’ The young man thought.

For him it just became as real as it was going to get… until battle was joined.

Sailors began pouring over their stations as men descended into the holds, weapons; swords, bows, clubs, bolts, hand-grenades, and all other manner of armament began coming to the surface.

One of the officers began at Asada’s side as they went back to the helm.

“But sir, the fog?! The she-elf is right we’ll need the lanterns and torches to see!”

He growled and flexed his mighty muscles; his neck bulged as he responded “I know how to fight a-sea! I’ve been killing men and boarding ships since before she was squirted into the foul womb she came from!”

The officer paled back and Prince Balik furrowed his brow again.

Yurin looked around as the deck became swarming with men.

The prince approached the quiet and nervous translator while he nodded, “Herald! Your lady, she’s fit to slay a dozen men is she naught?”

He punctuated his question with a laugh and Yurin bowed as best as he could.

“Y-yes your highness.”

“Is it true this is the work of magic?” he pointed towards the smoky clouds approaching and Yurin felt no choice but to agree, “S-so it would be…”

The man in the crow’s-nest began descending the rigging, jumping the last feet to the deck he sprinted to the aft of the ship and made a hasty report to Asada.

Yurin could tell he was shaken, but was this really all that concerning?

Balik began hounding the poor herald with questions, almost unaffected by the chaos of the men around them.

He seemed calm, and unfortunately focused on only one thing… _Raveres_

‘This idiot…’ Yurin thought, ‘He does realise what she is right?’ he wondered.

‘I certainly hope that he-‘

Yurin’s eyes widened, ‘I swore to serve her…’

Looking around the ship, the ocean extending in all directions, his life so plainly vulnerable, Yurin’s fateful decision came full on.

‘Gods above… a Druchii…’

Without her intoxicating visage to plague his mind, and the stress of the whole situation so far, the young human realised the grave reality that he and the idiot Prince Balik were, at the moment, not so different…

…

“It’s just like when they attacked me and my expedition.”

Raveres climbed the steps back to the deck with Sir Jean and Jacque following closely behind.

“Aye… It must be the foul creatures’ habit.”

She nodded, “Yes… we assumed a spell caster or someone aboard the vessel but I suspect it may just be the ship itself. An illusion woven into her planks, down to the keel,”

The Druchii would have smiled in approval if she wasn’t so angered to have been caught the same way as before. Sir Jean could feel the emotion and rage pour off her and he offered a reassuring tone,

“I do not like this either my lady, but I’m sure we’ve better warning this time.”

She grunted quietly, seemingly unconvinced.

“We’ll lay them low Sir Jean… I know it.” Jacque added. Though he didn’t understand their words he was responding to the obvious tone and body language of the two adults.

Sir Jean smiled curtly as he stepped up after the she-elf, “We shall indeed my boy.”

When they reached the deck the men were drawing in the sails and they had changed their course somewhat.

The Arabyans were all on edge as they searched off the starboard side for their quarry.

“As if they’ve happened upon us in this way…” Raveres spoke under her breath.

Sir Jean nodded, “It is poor timing, they’ve the wind, and they’re smothering us with the fog… If we join battle now we’ll be fighting into the night.”

Searching the deck for her retainer Raveres eventually yelled, “Yurin!”

The translator appeared and Prince Balik stepped beside him, “Y-yes my lady?”

“Tell Asada that the fog will lift as soon as they enemy is within range to fire their weapons…”

He nodded, and Prince Balik watched on with interest, hanging on to each word from the she-elf’s mouth.

“During the fighting my ship’s ballistae made several strikes along her port, if they’ve not shored them up or been able to repair them, I would suggest that there we make double our efforts and focus our fire.”

Sir Jean interjected, “My lady, Asada would be more willing to comply with this information was I the one to deliver it. Please, allow me.”

Raveres looked from Yurin to the elder knight before nodding, “So be it.”

Holding his sword steady Sir Jean mounted the aft-castle and headed to the helm.

“Captain!” he began.

The dark skinned mountain looked and barked, “What knight?”

“I bear important information,”

The other officers raised eyebrows and some looked on expectantly as the Breton explained Raveres’ strategy.

…

The tension was palpable and the humans were all searching their surroundings uneasily as the fog began to thicken and the distant shape of their target became impossible to remain seen.

The air became cool and Yurin shivered at his mistress’ side.

Raveres kept sight of the ship, following it’s trajectory through the fog.

Despite the thickness of the mist which hung so heavily she had trained her elvish eyes upon the rough line of the ships bow and kept them there, watching, unflinchingly as it sailed closer towards them.

“There it is…” she mumbled periodically, announcing to others as well as herself that she did still see it.

It was bearing through the fog at an even pace, far swifter than her size and guns suggested she should have been able to be.

But now they were enveloped in the fog.

Men lit torches and lanterns and bathed the deck in lamp-light as the sun became fainter and fainter along the edge of the world.

‘So it begins…’ Sir Jean thought uneasily.

Asada called to Raveres begrudgingly, asking “What’s its heading now?”

She responded, remaining unblinking at the side of the rail.

Yurin watched his mistress as she began to grow ever more distant in her gaze.

As if she was falling to a trance her face became devoid of expression and her eyes became bloodshot from remaining open for so long.

The pirate’s vessel was only a few chains distance away when the fog finally lifted.

Unfortunately for them the mist and heavy clouds which had surrounded them was trapping in the light of the dying sun and their lanterns. Once it fell away the darkness of evening was upon them and the enemy ship loomed like a black wall of shadow at their starboard.

At its unmasked appearance Raveres finally blinked and emotion came to her face, she bore her teeth and wrapped her gauntlet around her sword’s handle.

Drawing the blade she screamed, _“Sa’an’ishar!_ ”

Yurin at once gripped his blade and drew it. Behind her, nearer the aft castle, Sir Jean gripped his longsword and brought her from its sheath. Jacque likewise exhaled heavily and nervously followed.

The sound of swords being drawn and weapons readied was a chorus of steel and iron as the Arabyans began a battle chant.

Asada’s expression became professional as he bellowed to the men along the rigging and his helmsman.

Their ship was smaller than the galleon, but far more nimble and quicker in the engagement.

The archers on deck let their arrows fly and notched plumed shaft after shaft. Grenadiers used small elaborately designed carronades to lob their explosives towards their foe.

Sir Jean leapt to Raveres’ side and she looked to her left to see that Prince Balik was there as well, eagerly smiling.

His golden blade had been drawn and his gruff retainers stood by, their steel glinting in the fire-light.

She looked the prince up and raised a brow in disbelief at his weapon.

He beamed a smile and made a boast.

Yurin was so nervous he failed in his duty and instead held his sword so tightly that the blade shook as his arms shivered.

The dhow cut a stream line along the portside of the galleon as they fired relentlessly.

“They’ve yet to ready their cannon?!” Sir Jean cried.

Raveres looked along the hull and noticed that all the ships’ gun-ports were still fastened closed and their doors tightly shut.

The rigging too was a shambles, lines and sail had been half-hung, and barely clung to their mizzens.

There were no sharpshooters in the crow’s-nests.

There were no claw toed sailors clamouring up or down the netting.

Even in the darkness they could see that there were no men at the rails to respond with musket fire, or crossbow bolts.

The Arabyan’s began to falter and their barrage of arrow and grenade ceased.

Tension began to hang as they cut around the aft of their target and alongside the starboard.

Asada ordered them to come closer.

Each man was tensely watching the motionless ship.

Raveres’ left hand began a tremor and her breath increased in rhythm.

‘It’s a trap… it’s a ruse… this is _wrong! I can smell it!’_

Sir Jean called to Asada and the captain gave the order for the grapple lines to be thrown.

Men began spinning hook and line and tossing their claws over side.

Raveres exhaled and growled in anger, “Mathlann be damned! Where is _my vengeance!?”_

Yurin gulped hesitantly before responding, “Perhaps they’ve abandoned ship?”

Before she could glare at her retainer flashes of purple light illuminated the sky and a resounding cry wailed over the edge of the galleon and in between the two ships.

Then the shots began…

Musket fire erupted from opening portholes, and from intermittent spots along the railing.

Asada jumped from the aft castle and cried orders to his men as Raveres turned to see the colossal captain approach.

Men began returning fire with bolt and arrow as planks and crossing beams were thrown up and over.

The lines pulled taut as the two ships grew closer and closer and the wailing of injured men surrounded them as grotesque noises emanated loudly from the other ship.

Raveres narrowed her eyes as she avoided splinters and tried to make out the details of their foes.

‘There’s foul magic at work…’

Sir Jean called to Asada, “We’ll lead the attack! Captain, I beg your leave to lead the men!”

The gruff Arabyan lifted a heavy grenade and threw it over the rail.

“I shall lead this battle you interlo-“

A hole appeared in the man’s thick neck, and like a pressured torrent, his blood began spraying out.

Two more musket holes appeared in his throat and head, toppling the mountain of a man and causing a great groan to erupt from the crew.

Sir Jean’s face grew pale and he held his tongue tightly as he and Jacque watched the captain fall and begin gurgling on the deck.

Raveres turned to see what had happened and she grit her teeth before she reached beside and took hold of Yurin.

The young man was hyperventilating and sputtering as men fell beside him and the clouds of acrid musket-smoke filled the air.

“Yurin! I shall lead the foray! I want the deck illuminated with fire; and tell this _SPINELESS scum_ I will flay their cocks if they dare not follow me!”

The young man shivered and shook as Raveres let go and stepped on top of the first boarding platform in place.

Her face was one of terrifying focus, before she turned back to him and screamed, “ _Say it!”_

Her form took on that of a banshee, or a weight and it made the translator whimper under his breath weakly. He nodded and forced his eyes closed as he yelled as hard as he could to the crew.

Sir Jean pursed his lips and stood up from Asada’s side. The captain’s face was contorted in pain and his eyes rolled back into his head. Blood still spilled with a slowing pace from his neck.

Though he was from a different era of technology Sir Jean knew what muskets could do, and he knew that the captain was dead the moment that the lead bullets had hit him…

Drawing a breath he watched Raveres mount one of the bridges and knew he must now follow, with a steady voice of command he ordered, “Jacque! Stay close to me or the crew, stay out from the she-elf’s’ path!”

The squire looked to his master with tenseness in his face. He clutched his sword in his hands and nodded. His cowlick of hair bounced as he gave his tabard one final adjustment.

Sir Jean leapt onto a bridge and began following Raveres, letting out a battle-wail as he boarded the thin plank bridge beside hers. Behind him the young Jacque let out his own high-pitched battle cry and clambered onto the plank.

With her sword high overhead Raveres let out a bloodcurdling scream and sprinted headlong across the bridge.

Khaine’s fury had taken her completely and she was plunging on whether the human crew behind her were to follow or not.

She was not going to be stopped by any mortal or any simple blow to her flesh. Not even a commandment from the Witch King would have held sway over her to stop her from spilling blood, not now… Not ever.

She seethed and jumped the last feet from the bridge onto the galleon’s deck, cutting down the nearest man-shape she could see.

Her eyes wild with fury she kicked her target and the pirate gurgled and retched as she dislodged her sword from his chest. He fell backwards and with flaming arrows now soaring overhead Raveres finally saw what had become of her quarry…

The man’s flesh had purpled and his blood was congealed in his face and arms. Veins pulsed under his skin and spikes began breaking through in lines along his bones.

His teeth were so long that his lower jaw hung open involuntarily, trying in vain to keep in his fangs.

His right arm had molted and hardened nearer the wrist and hand.

His fingers fused together in a disgusting mass of flesh and nail. The limb appeared to be extending and warping.

The muskets began to fail out and she noticed that the pirates were not reloading.

Discarded pistols and muskets fell from their users’ hands once spent.

Sir Jean and several of the Arabyan sailors had made it behind her and were now jumping to the deck.

The pirate crew looked at the boarders with vacant or dazed expressions.

Each one of them had been warped or mutated in some way; their flesh remolded into grotesque, horrifying forms.

“What in Khaine’s name is the meaning of this?!” Raveres she shuddered breathlessly.

Sir Jean quailed and stopped in his advance as he looked from ravaged pirate to pirate.

“They’ve been made twisted by c-chaos!” he cried.

At once the men groaned and let out howls as they lunged forwards with clawed arms, swords, club, and all manner of weapon.

The flaming arrows she’d ordered began the rigging and sails alight and now the deck was illuminated as strongly as if it were day.

The full horror of Annio’s crew became visible and Raveres crinkled her nose as she screamed, “ _Kill them all! Slay the abominations!”_

Parrying a man whose right arm had become a bone-like blade the Druchii screamed and easily reposted; darting forwards with a upwards slash, cleaving the man’s head off.

Not even before the man’s headless corpse fell to the deck, another, warped human, took his place, and continued the melee.

Beside Raveres her knightly companion was locked tightly with a man whose bald head and withered features resembled that of a dried crab.

Avoiding his strikes Sir Jean smashed the man across the face with his left gauntlet before holding him by the throat. With a loud yell he brought the hilt of his sword downwards and bashed his pommel into the man’s head, cracking the round pan of his skull open with a sickening whack.

Throwing the lifeless body back to his ‘comrades’ Sir Jean waved the men behind him and with cheers the Arabyan’s began to pour onto the deck.

But as soon as the new arrivals saw their opponents’ warped bodies the men of Emir Al Daouk each made curses or exclamations of horror.

“Sir Jean!” Raveres cried. Dodging a spear wielding man she caught the shaft under her arm and easily cut the wood with her blade.

The knight parried and lunged forwards, impaling his sword through a man’s engorged and misshapen chest. Kicking the corpse away he readied himself and countered another blow, “Aye?!”

“What the _fuck_ is this?!”

Dropping low Raveres avoided a man’s clawed arm and watched it collide with an Arabyan whose guard was down. The razor sharp bone lodged in the man’s face and halved his jaw amidst choked screams. Blood and broken teeth flew down as the pirate withdrew his ‘weapon’ and readied another strike, this time aimed lower.

Sir Jean responded after grunting, “Nothing but the taint of chaos! The foul, prince of pleasure has warped their flesh into his own playthings!”

Jacque cried and kicked forwards as he skillfully parried and smacked away opponent’s blades. Yet for his skill at retaining a defence his fear and the madness of what he was seeing made the youth tense and shake; unable to deliver any form of a killing blow.

Leaping to his right Sir Jean cried; “Have at you!” as he brought his blade along the arms of a pirate and dissected them from their owner.

Turning to his squire he loudly reminded; “Stay close to me my boy!”

Jacque’s horror strewn face nodded and he stifled a shudder as he moved himself closer to his master and tried harder to fight.

The Arabyan’s were not used to facing such a foe and for them the sights of the warped men made several of them stop dead in their tracks upon first sight of their form.

A lethal mistake for some…

But the full force of the dhow was not yet committed against the pirates.

A shadow passed overhead with a mocking laugh as Prince Balik swung onto the deck from the rigging of their ship. He landed with a great cry into the midst of several of the most warped and grotesque of the pirates.

Raveres watched his brief flight with disbelief and snarled, ‘One ball and no brains… the fucking halfwit!’

The prince’s retainers followed on lines of their own and skillfully dismounted to land on those enemies closest to their lord.

With a mad laugh and battle cry the pauper-prince began fighting, swinging his sword around uncoordinatedly in the middle of the deck, nearly singing as he flourished and danced about.

‘With any luck he’s mauled before making a complete fool of himself.’ Looking away from the idiot prince, Raveres began to search the faces of the horrifically disfigured pirates as she whispered; “Where is he… where is he…” under her breath.

Moving from the mid-ship and towards the aft she easily cut down three more uncoordinated pirates. Her rage only grew at the ease with which she was felling these men.

The simplicity of their fighting made her even more maddened as her vengeance seemed to become hollow.

“Where are you, you Slaanesh worshiping cunt!?” she finally cried.

She had wanted to fight competent ‘men’…

She wished to duel living beings who reacted, who thought tactfully about their motions.

She wanted a hard fought, yet satisfying victory. One that was well deserved after the absolute _insult_ and wretchedness that she had endured so far…

Yet all around her, easily being put to the sword, were mere walking hunks of flesh, made both mad and utterly devoid of life by a foul corruption. Puppets of some unseen daemon force…

At first the Arabyans were only tentatively engaging their foe, so aghast and terror stricken from their appearance and the intimidation of the foul magic, they’d stayed far back and moved only as sparingly as was necessary.

But now even they had noticed the mindlessness and incoordination of the possessed pirates.

And so the former ravers of the sea were being put to the sword.

They couldn’t even form speech as their rotten and warped minds barely functioned enough to allow them to move. Grumbling and retching horrible sounds as they moved, lurched forwards, or slashed. Most of them made only gurgling croaks as they fell over and expired, those less taken with the corruption made more familiar cries of pain or surprise when they were slain. But none seemed to be able to use their tongues.

Felling ruined pirates left and right Raveres angrily cried, “Where are you Annio!”

She growled and engaged a man larger than the last, hoping vainly for some kind of a challenge in his twisted flesh. With a feint and a fleche she lodged her sword into the eye of the man. She repeated her question, “ _Where are you Annio!”_

A flash of motion beside her and she moved back skilfully.

“That is, if you still have the brains to comprehend me…”

Parrying a clawed hand she easily tripped and impaled what must have once been the ship’s surgeon. His blood stained clothes and apron suggested as much.

With rage boiling within her breast she screamed “ _Annio Bilbali! Show yourself to me!”_

Climbing the steps to the helm she easily jumped over falling lines and burning rigging, repeating the captain’s name madly as she became more and more blind with fury.

“Annio!”

“ _ANNIO!”_

She heaved and her chest rose up and down violently as her breath became ragged. Her talisman of Khaine dug into her skin mockingly and she became all the bitter for it; slashes and cuts became less fine or skillful in their execution.

Instead they were made far more horrible just for the sake of it: like a blood-drunk Witch-Elf.

Raveres cut limbs off men and then kicked them over; she sliced off legs and screamed, she impaled her blade into abdomens and tore her out on an angle, spilling entrails and foul organs. Her mind was losing all sense of composure as it quickly dawned on her that her _glorious revenge_ was stolen.

The deck was becoming quiet as the last of the crew were dispatched and Sir Jean tried calling to Raveres as she hacked and battered the last pirates aboard the aft.

The men who sunk her ship…

The men who laughed as she fell into the waves…

The skilled swordsmen and sharpshooters who had put her crew, her captain… _her fellow Druchii_ to death…

Each of them had put up a paltry fight, representing nothing but a token resistance as the playthings of a now-bored and disinterested daemon.

The pirates were already dead before they spotted their ship upon the horizon…

Her victory was vanished before they even came to and boarded.

Sir Jean climbed the steps to the helm and was calling her name.

The last ‘living’ pirates stood near the wheel, groaning and lazily eyeing Raveres, waiting before beginning their loudly telegraphed attacks.

She stepped to the side, feinted, lunged, beat, feinted, and then slashed.

The first fell, his ribs cracked from the impact of her steel.

“Raveres!” Sir Jean called.

She dipped to the side and bore her teeth as she brought her sword up and through the next man’s face. Nose, teeth, and the flesh of his cheek came free with rotten ease.

_“Raveres!”_ the knight cried.

She finally heard him enough through her haze that she responded, bellowing a horrible scream; “ _WHAT?!”_

Punctuating her word she side-stepped and decapitated the last sailor before turning to see the knight.

Her face was streaming with sweat and Sir Jean’s eyes were wide with fear, “We must leave this ship…”

Above them the flames in the sails had spread and the rigging was burning with tongues of light.

The foremast creaked and began cracking as flames started to feed themselves and consume their way down the wooden beam.

“The ship is to flounder; we must depart now lest our own vessel become consumed!”

Raveres screamed and impaled her sword through a dead man’s abdomen, “I have had my victory taken from me knight! You are _dreaming_ if you think I shall lose my gold as well!”

Sir Jean furrowed his brow and raised his voice, “You will not speak to me thus! We must leave or we will all die! Look upon what you have wrought!”

Raveres seethed and refused to move her eyes away from the knight’s.

“You have slain the last of them, their ship is a wreck… your honour has been satisfied! You’ve given yourself so totally to madness that no amount of blood shall sate it!”

Arabyans were confused as to what they were to do; some were bent down aiding their injured or fallen comrades, while others leapt off the galleon and back to the dhow, and the last few stood quietly, in disbelief, as they surveyed the massacre which had just taken place.

Raveres growled as she drew her blade from the corpse, ignoring the knight she stepped to the rail and yelled, “Yurin! _Yurin you coward!_ Stand or I’ll hollow you out myself!”

Appearing from behind the rail on the dhow the erudite and sickly man rose into view, “Y-yes my lady… I-“

“Keep still your tongue! Tell these Arabyans to get below and begin helping me find _my gold_!”

He nodded and wiped a line of spittle from his lips, “A-aye…”

He relayed the order and several men on the deck perked up as they looked to Raveres.

She stepped towards the staircase and began down to the main deck.

Sir Jean face shivered in disbelief, “Druchii, _we must leave_!”

She pushed past the knight and dragged her sword along the deck, “Make the ship ready to sail, but you will not leave until I have what I came for!”

Sir Jean pursed his lips and held his tongue for a few seconds, but eventually the patience of the knight had finally worn out and his voice rose in disdain;

“Druchii! You will listen to me!”

He opened his mouth and stepped after her, drawing a deep breath.

He was about to speak when came a horrific rumble from the bowls of the ship.

The Arabyans, Sir Jean, Jacque, and Prince Balik looked down.

Cracking and groaning began to shake the ship and Raveres’ eyes widened.

An awful cry and mangled yell came from the bowls of the ship as tentacles began slithering up from the hold.

They moved upwards and began bringing water towards the burning masts, or they tried sweeping the burning wood off the deck, some just wrapped themselves around the flames and snuffed it out.

One of the Arabyan sailors was in a tentacle’s way and he slashed at it with his sword.

Sir Jean looked at the man with horror and began a cry, “No!”

Time slowed and as soon as the man’s blade made contact with the appendage, and as he cleaved it through, an awful shudder rocked the galleon.

A groan and roar shook the wooden construction down to its keel as beaks and teeth began to erupt from the ends of the tentacles and they began moving with horrific speed.

They began attacking and seeking out any living man they found. Sir Jean skilfully cut three in a single, lucky, swing; their bloody stumps recoiled and the beast below began groaning in pain.

Raveres heard a great cracking under her feet and jumped pre-emptively as a thick tentacle, larger than the rest so far, burst through the deck where she had been standing.

“Fall back you fools!” Sir Jean cried.

Switching to Druhir his voice pleaded; “Raveres we must go! This is not a time for-“

An Arabyan, being held and gored by several beaked tentacles at once was thrown and impacted him square across the chest.

The elder knight swore and fell back, winded, and nearly crushed by the bloody corpse.

Jacque’s face was struck with horror and he screamed, “Master!”

Sprinting through the carnage the youth leapt over bodies and dodged under tentacle trunks overhead as he dove to Sir Jean’s side.

Raveres looked around and grit her teeth, dodging and rolling, angrily avoiding several of the smaller abominations, cutting and slashing their ‘heads’ as they attempted to bite at her. “What is this magic!?”

The Druchii heard what sounded like a woman’s laughing from below deck as several tentacles lunged at Raveres in a coordinated pattern.

She avoided several and ‘decapitated’ the ones which dove closest to her, but she’d moved right where ‘it’ had wanted her to:

Raveres had stepped above one of the hatches in the deck and she lost her footing when the door was ripped open downwards.

She fell with her right leg dangling into the hole as the rest of her body went falling onto the deck. Her cuirass dully whacked against the deck and she nearly broke her nose as her face impacted into the wood, and her amulet stabbed into the flesh of her bosom.

Struggling for purchase with her left hand a tentacle wrapped around her leg and began pulling her below deck.

She growled and turned, slashing with her sword as best she could into the darkness of the ship’s bowl.

A hand darted upwards and gripped her by the wrist.

A familiar face greeted her as a figure walked into her view.

She struggled, and kicked, trying to free herself as well as clamber back up the hole as the hand dug its nails in and held her tighter.

The raspy and guttural voice of the possessed captain Annio-Luis Philipe de Bilbali came into view.

“Hello again, _mi amour_ ”

Raveres forgot her hatred for a brief moment and instead let out an involuntary cry of horror…

His face was barely held onto his skull; his hair was sickly and looked like he’d been dead for days but kept preserved in pitch.

His eye lids were putrid and feted with sores, but his eyes themselves were like looking into a nightmare;

The veins had blacked across his sclera and his iris’, once vibrant and coloured were now yellowed and whitened with rot. But his pupils… they were black and green, like the back of a beetle. The darkness within them was almost slithering out from his body and into Raveres’ mind.

His hands were black at their tips and his shirt was tattered. A third, claw-like, arm was growing out of his back, asymmetrically stilted to the right.

His throat had small sores and little proto-tentacles growing from under his skin.

She looked at the hand touching her again and saw that fingers were growing out _the top of his hand_.

His broad forearms had become marred in symbols and glyphs, cut into his flesh by some crude, dull, weapon.

His shirt hung open and his chest was a mass of slithering tentacles as his muscles and flesh hung out in heavy uneven blobs.

Raveres screamed and brought her foot up to kick him. Aiming for his horrific visage she put as much terror-fueled force as she could behind the strike, and for once this night she was blessed; for her aim was true.

Crushing the sole of her right foot into the middle of his face she broke his nose and forced him to let go of her while he recoiled from the blow.

As he groaned in pain the whole ship shuddered creaked.

Digging her left hand into the planks above so tightly Raveres felt her nails crack and pull up from her fingers. Her feminine nails started ripping away from their beds as she hoisted herself back out of the hole and onto the deck.

Madly she screamed, giving herself the impetus and relief she needed, and crawled several feet before throwing herself up and standing.

Readying her sword and gripping it with both hands Raveres grit her teeth and seethed as her left hand began to bleed from the ruined fingernails.

She hadn’t any time to ready herself before a laugh came from the hole and Annio leapt onto the deck into full view.

His legs had turned into slithering mass of tentacles. So numerous and motioning it reminded Raveres of maggots, or worms writhing around in filth…

‘Has he become a toy of Nurgle as well?!’ she thought vainly.

Annio drew in a ragged breath and his voice boomed amidst the screams of some of the Arabyan crew.

“What do you think of my s-ship… and my p-pet?” His voice was up and down in tone, and made Raveres want to drive forwards and shove her sword through his disgusting chest.

Yet she remained still… ‘How do I know that would even kill him?!’

Jacque had done everything he could to push the body off of his master and on the other side of the hole, nearer the mainmast, Raveres saw the squire help lean Sir Jean against the trunk of wood.

The squire had stayed his blade and sheathed it. His face was tired and his hair slick with sweat as he held back tears and forced himself to stand.

Sir Jean’ head drooped and he could barely stay upright, even with the youth helping him.

An Arabyan leapt to the knight’s side and helped the squire shoulder his weight.

Raveres’ knew that it was now her own; a battle utterly on her own wits.

She couldn’t help but hear in the back of her mind the perversion of irony; ‘what? You wanted him… here he is!’

Looking up at the captain she snarled and responded, “I think you look like a rotten, putrid, mess. I couldn’t care less about your ruin of a ship.”

One of Annio’s tentacles lunged towards her and she jumped to the side as she brought down her sword.

Cleaving the thin appendage easily it wriggled about before two heads grew from the bloody stump.

‘What, is he a fucking _hydra!?_ ’

The captain laughed at her expression, “And that’s not all. I was so rude to you before, but please I ought to introduce you to my pet…”

On cue a mass of his tentacles darted forwards and Raveres instinctively brought up her sword and stepped back to defend herself. However they were far faster than the first and quickly gripped her around the legs, arms and waist.

Screaming as they wrapped around her she was lifted up with surprising ease as Annio slithered below deck and she was ripped along with.

The thicker tentacles which seemingly came from the ship continued to attack and harass the Arabyans as Raveres disappeared from view, with a grunt and a loud shout.

…

The bowls of the ship had been chewed away and its beams sank down into a strange darkness. It smelt wet in the air and it hung heavy with an acrid stench. The deeper she was drawn in the more weight each breath gained.

She tried counting as she passed through the decks of the galleon. But when she reached three she doubted there could be any more depth, yet Annio descended even farther.

Raveres’ eyes burned and she was tightly held by the muscled limbs, struggling against her bondage.

Rather than a complete lack of light she saw that there were strange blue lamps hanging from the walls, as well as several spots along the ceiling. They reminded her of witch-light, and at once she assumed them to be perversions of the Druchii staple.

Once they stopped moving she was finally released.

Expecting the bottom of the ships wood framing to greet her Raveres landed with a great shout onto _something…_

The floor was coated in a thick layer of bile? No… merely wet wood, the ship must have sprung a seam.

Pushing her left hand off the ground and quickly standing she felt the blubbery softness of sea-flesh.

She exclaimed in surprise and disgust as she rose into a stand, searching the darkness for Annio.

The lower deck was far larger than it should have been.

Her voice and breath _echoed_ …

She felt no claustrophobic oppression of closing walls of wood, or a ceiling too close to her head.

In fact an eerie level of spaciousness became the feeling around her.

Spurred on by her movement and breath the blue globes of light began to brighten.

Nearby Annio announced his presence in the dark and she pivoted, ready to fight.

“As I said… my dark lady… So rude of me to not introduce you sooner, but you should know. Newborns require much sleep.”

He punctuated his cryptic message with a chuckle.

Finally she was able to see more than a few feet in front of her.

But Raveres began wishing that she couldn’t.

The interior of the ship was fused with a great beast of flesh and bone. Beams of wood descended from the deck above into a breathing, pulsing membrane of muscle below.

White bone and tendon held the wooden shell of the ship above together as anglers of shifting blue bioluminescence began engorging and brightening. The globes of blue energy pulsed in tune with the whole of her surroundings, until now the whole of the vast chamber was lightened and visible.

Annio began laughing as he watched Raveres look around her in horror.

Then, near what would have been the stern of the ship, she saw it… His _pet…_

It was like the head of a sea creature yet it was mixed with aspects of a man, and then twisted together with the taint of chaos.

The ‘face’ looked like that of a fish Raveres had never seen before, its jaws were great hinged monstrosities, and looked like something only from her deepest nightmares… It had barbed teeth at varying uneven lengths; some were too premature to be considered teeth yet, while others were already so long they appeared as sabres and made it impossible for the great mouth to close completely.

The head was massive, the size of a carriage at least…

The human aspect of the fish’s face was that its eyes had great lids covering them, and so proving Annio’s words correct that it was at the moment asleep.

The flesh of the beasts’ face was malted; both scale and pink human-skin which had been fused together in an unholy marriage of terror. In places it wasn’t yet mature, the scales or flesh was nearly translucent, with veins and tendons shivering and pulsing under the surface.

Raveres willed her eyes to move off the massive head to see what its body was like.

And after circling the perimeter of the beast’s crown and lower jaw she saw that _it was attached to the membrane of the ship…_ For all purposes the ship _was the creature, and the creature the ship._

She exclaimed in maddened fear and looked under foot at the pulsing and living floor. It exhaled steadily and so the whole of the chamber would contract and move almost a foot; in and out, in and out.

Annio slithered along the fleshy ground and chuckled, “My pet does not have a name… but… when he is grown I shall become king of the seas!”

“Perhaps ‘ _Prince_ ’ would be a fitting name?”

Raveres watched as he drew closer to the great head and began rubbing a hand along its wet snout lovingly.

Her voice cracked as she cried; “What foul pact have you wrought, _you madman_?!”

The creature stirred at the noise but remained sleeping.

“In a way I suppose it is to be a torment… for killing a touched of Slaanesh…”

Annio’s face grit and contorted as he violently ‘stepped’ back from the beast and shook.

He let out a growl of pain as he spoke, “It is… _agony…_ ”

He fell to what would have been his knees as he looked at Raveres.

His face, still corrupt, showed a pathetic glimpse of the truth as he spoke, “We are in utter torment… _Kill the beast… for we are bound to its fate_.”

His body shivered and his eyes rolled in his skull.

Growling again he slithered forwards with the speed of a snake and lunged at Raveres.

The Druchii barely had time to react as she jumped to the left and lowered herself to dodge.

Something wet slapped her in the face and blinded her as Annio passed.

Stumbling Raveres regained her footing and wiped at her eyes, knocking to the ground and into view what had hit her.

The putrid discarded flesh of Annio’s human face slid from her hand and fell apart into pieces.

His beard and cheeks looked up at her and she shook in revulsion as she forced herself to turn.

The now face-less skull and grotesque visage of the pirate captain stared at her. His bone no longer resembled that of a human’s and was beginning to shift and change, exposing the depths of the magic which had enveloped him and the curse which had befallen the Estalian.

He let out a cry and began clawing at his own skin. The bulbous and fettered flesh gave away easily and fell to the ‘ground’ in large clumps.

She wanted to vomit and she felt the bile begin to rise in her throat as she beheld the ‘true form’ of her enemy.

His muscles were covered in a thick hide, spotted and horrifically coloured like a kraken’s.

But before she could study him closer he lunged at her again, this time aided by his large, trunk-like, tentacles.

Without thinking she cleaved at them in defense as she stepped backwards.

Annio recoiled and howled in pain as the ends of his appendages flew off.

Momentarily stalled they began bubbling as new ends grew from the stumps.

Raveres began leaping backwards and jumping over the uneven and lumpy floor, slashing or beating with the flat of her blade.

‘How can I defeat this?!’ she thought madly.

Annio began crying inhuman speech in a shrill voice as he shuddered in pain, his body was continuing to change and morph.

It seemed the daemons, or the prince of pleasure, were not yet done twisting him…

One of the bulbous blue orbs of light craned downwards and Raveres stroked at it with a yell of frustration, it spilled open a thick, pungent, liquid which continued to shine.

The cutting of the bulb however caused the ship to quake and groan as the beast head at the stern moved and thrashed in pain.

Where the sword had cut through the orb streaks of illuminating oil clung as if she had dipped her blade into a forge.

Annio turned and looked between Raveres and his ‘pet’. Furrowing her brow the Druchii tested something, and brought her blade downwards into the fleshy membrane bellow.

It dug in about half a foot before stopping.

The beast at the stern cried and its great jaws opened as its eyes began lifting.

Annio hissed and screamed at Raveres; but before she could draw her sword from the flesh he struck forwards with his tentacles and sent her flying towards the bow section of the chamber. He let out a cry as he slithered back to the head and tried assuaging the pained beast.

The Druchii rolled over and forced herself to rise.

The ship swayed from side to side and she tried to lower the rate of her breathing.

Debris and bodies fell down into the chamber through the hole in the deck above and even a few Arabyans came down, screaming and covered in blood and wounds from their above battle with the ship’s tentacles.

Three living men landed onto the fleshy floor. One ceased screaming as soon as he hit, while the other two began crying out in pain, limbs presumably having been broken from their impact.

One of the men she recognised as a retainer of Prince Balik’s. He forced himself to a stand and clutched at his left arm, presumably taken out of action from the fall.

They looked around and regarded the chamber with horror before finally seeing the head and Annio at the stern.

Two large tentacles sprouted from beside the head and its eyes now opened, red veins could be seen and an expression only describable as rage appeared across the beast’s face.

One tentacle surged forwards and wrapped around the retainer’s leg while the other found the other conscious man.

Drawing his dagger the retainer immediately stabbed the limb and it recoiled in pain as he readied another strike.

The man on the floor wasn’t so lucky, and had no weapons. He screamed and cried as Raveres watched on in mute terror.

The retainer turned away and saw her, backing up he nodded to her and jumped towards her sword.

Annio cheered and watched as the crewman was brought towards the maw of the beast and was fed, limb by limb into the scythe like jaws.

He screamed and cried and the whole ship seemed to rejoice at ripping the man apart.

The retainer dropped his dagger and drew Raveres’ blade from the floor with his good arm.

Growling Raveres moved forwards and was going to yell when the man turned and threw the blade back to her.

He descended to pick up his dagger and stepped backwards as Annio roared and attacked with his tentacles and the beast cried and stabbed forwards with its own.

Catching the blade and nearly fumbling it Raveres stepped forwards and took a position beside the man.

He nodded at her and she saw his features tense and awash with fear but together they tried to communicate without words and Raveres seemed to have understood that he was going to run to the left of the chamber.

Without another moment to contemplate his Annio growled and slithered forwards.

Turning from the retainer to Raveres he tried attacking both and his tentacles moved uncoordinatedly.

With a great shout the retainer leapt to the left and pushed himself off the wall. Raveres charged right up the middle and Annio was caught, unable to react to both.

Parrying his tentacles Raveres aimed her blade at the pirate’s heart while the retainer was caught and wrapped in the mass of Annio’s extremities.

Slashing and crying out the warrior learned that he was as regenerative as a hydra and the more he cut with his dagger the more tightly he became bound.

“ _Let’s see if that regrowth works on your head too_!” the Druchii screamed.

Annio’s few free limbs immediately darted up to protect his neck and left free the rest of his body.

If not for everything she’d seen so far Raveres would have laughed that he took her loud announcement seriously.

Putting all her strength behind her hands she drove her blade through Annio’s chest. If she missed his heart or if his heart had moved positions it mattered naught…

She turned her blade upon entry and had severed his spine, or at least whatever was left of it.

Annio let out a great groan of pain as he began crumpling, his tentacles shivering and loosening their grip on the retainer.

Falling to the mushy floor the pirate and warrior both shook and sputtered. But unlike Annio the retainer rose again, his arm visibly broken and his body exhausted he still drew breath and was living.

Under her foot Raveres watched as the mangled and warped face of her foe… the man she had dreamt about killing exhaled his last ragged, and pathetic breath.

Yet she had no time to enjoy her victory… Annio’s _pet_ still lived and upon seeing the death of its beloved master the beast let out such a cry that the wood of the ship’s shell shook and groaned in pain.

A score of tentacles erupted from the walls and floor lashing towards the retainer and Raveres with such speed and ferocity that she was knocked from side to side like a ragdoll.

The retainer however was caught again, and the ravenous mouths of the beaked tentacles began biting at him and latching onto his exposed flesh.

He flailed his broken arm uselessly as he tried smacking, dissuading, or averting incoming strikes from the left, while he stabbed and slashed, cutting as much as he was able with the dagger in his right.

He screamed in pain as he was hoisted up from the floor.

Raveres’ battered head swirled and she finally let loose a torrent of vomit as she attempted to stand.

The creature began pecking away at the retainer and he cried ever more madly as he was drawn towards the gore and blood covered maw of the beast.

‘Must strike while it’s distracted…’

She stumbled and tripped over one of Annio’s limbs, losing grip on her sword as she fell to the wet membrane of the floor.

She growled and forced herself to stand as small tentacles and beaks began pecking and biting at her legs and exposed arms.

It felt like pinches, but at the end they drew away with a chunk of flesh, leaving behind triangular bites the size of coins. Kicking and batting and screaming she extended towards her sword, hoping that the retainer wasn’t yet slaughtered and she still had time to attack.

Looking up in the blue gloom she saw that he was near the open jaws and was biting down on tentacles just as they were biting at him. When he was close enough he lunged his right arm forwards as much as he could, aiming for the beast’s left eye.

As his strike met its mark the creature closed its jaws with the speed of a bear-trap.

The man and beast both began wailing in pain… Blood sprayed from the stump of the retainer’s left arm and the tentacles threw him away petulantly as it began covering its wounded eye.

Landing against the bow with a heavy crash the retainer’s screams of pain were silenced and he lay in a heap, motionless.

Before she could come to her feet the tentacles wrapped themselves around Raveres and lifted her high, she screamed and tried to swing her sword but the beast had quickly learned; disarm before eating…

Biting and curling around her right forearm it tightly pulled and the Druchii was forced to relinquish her grip or have the arm broken.

In an involuntary flex of muscle she let go and was swiftly drawn towards the skin and blood covered teeth.

Drawn feet first towards the beast Raveres began screaming in terror as her mind emptied.

All thoughts of revenge, of control, of battle-lust… everything left except for a madness filled revelation:

‘I am going to be butchered and eaten _alive…’_

Voice and thought melded as she shivered and screamed, spit and sweat, blood, viscera, gore, soiled entrails, filth… it all cumulated as a burning fever ripped through her body, from her legs, through her muscles, from the lips of her groin through her organs until they all centred on a sharp stabbing pain in her chest.

Flashes of memories and heated visions filled her soul as she cried,

_“Father! M-mother! KHAINE!”_

Her unintelligible screams were drowned out as the creature brought her forwards and roared; its own tentacles were scarcely away from its sword like teeth before the jaws closed shut around her chest.

Expecting a flurry of pain and the sensation of being drawn in half Raveres was aghast that instead she was still living, and her legs still had feeling in them.

The creature wailed in pain as its premature teeth became acquainted with Druchii black steel.

The weak ivory snapped and shattered as it pressed into the cuirass and only a few of the strongest teeth withheld the pressure of biting into the castle-forged armour.

Realising she was still in one piece, for the moment, Raveres snarled and screamed as she reached forwards and took hold of the dagger still embedded in the beasts’ eye.

Digging it out she began stabbing madly, dripping blood and ichor across her face as she continued to drive the blade into the great disk-like eye.

She screamed and kicked her feet against the roof of the beast’s mouth, driving the blade deeper with every blow.

The whole while she was screaming insults and crying curses in the speech of the witch-elves. She never knew she could recite the prayers and liturgy she’d learned as a young girl, but the burning within her body _the desire to kill_ , _the plans yet unrealised, the life yet-unlived_ …

She drove the blade home with her right and ripped at the right eye with her left hand.

The massive lids tried to cover the creature’s only good eye but she dug her hand underneath it and dug her nail-less fingers into the wet orb, stealing for purchase on the material of the eye and pulling backwards as soon as she had a ‘handful’.

Meanwhile the tentacles whipped at her head and wrapped themselves around her neck and chest, trying to pull her away from its mouth and face.

Her words became choked and wild as she nearly tore her vocal chords under the pressure of the tentacle across her throat, “ _I AM A DRUCHII! I am of the blood of Naggaryth! And I WILL NEVER DIE TO YOU!”_

The beast finally pulled her free of its jaws and threw her away. Whipping back up she grinned to see she retained a hold on the dagger.

The beast and the ship screamed and violently rocked with pain, she began a mad barrage and leapt forwards, both hands on the dagger as she aimed for the left eye, she was going to drive the blade into its brain…

“ _I will never YIELD, I will not tire, I WILL NOT CEASE!”_

Jumping over the young creature’s uncoordinated and blind strikes she dodged and wailed as she aimed and drove the blade into the centre of the gored and ichor covered hole that was once the beast’s great left eye.

She buried the dagger to the hilt and began hammering her palm against it as she chanted; _“Die! Die! DIE!”_

The beast cried and thrashed, twitching and sputtering as the blade finally reached into its skull.

When her hands were so bloody and pained she couldn’t move her fingers Raveres brought her foot up and gave the pommel of the Arabyan dagger as heavy a kick as she could.

At once the beast silenced and the Druchii fell to the floor, having lost her balance from the fury of her striking.

Coughing and sputtering, screaming and shaking, Raveres rolled over her side and looked at the great beast.

Its shattered teeth and limp tentacles lay on the floor before its horrid maw.

She let out a cry of exhaustion as she let herself lay on her back.

Into her cuirass she began to feel the piercings of several of the beast’s teeth, and a burning sensation flooded into her body as the adrenaline began to wear off.

Her nail-less left hand burned from the blood and ichor of the creature’s eye and all over her skin the putrid air found her wounds and began setting in, furthering the burning which was spilling over her muscles and body.

Letting out a heavy breath Raveres felt tightness in her lower abdomen loosen.

The nerves and tension of her brush with death finally spilled over and with no more strength to hold herself together she felt her bladder release in an undignified and horrid combination of revulsion and relief,

“Ba-stard… _bastard…_ ” she swore.

Her tongue burned too… slick with spit, blood, and bile she looked up at the light spilling down from the hatch when something dark obscured her view and she finally made out the shape of a man.

With sword drawn the figure descended and called loudly before landing.

At the appearance of the warrior she finally felt her body give away, exhausted, as the darkness of unconsciousness overtook her.

…

 


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Summary: Elianna recovers, Sir Tormande eyes a prize, and Raveres is marred

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Sixteen

Narien slunk up the stairs back to his room with his books.

He was nursing his bruised face and exhaling uneasily as he opened his door.

Elianna was asleep under his covers, and he smiled at the kindness which he had been able to afford her.

If his eldest brother Malith was the quintessential Druchii son and heir, then Narien was the palest inversion of his brother…

Where Malith was strong, Narien was weak, where he was cruel, Narien was kind.

In a sadistic twist of fate the youngest Naguii was born the most like an Asur high-elf: He was erudite and artistic, creative and sensitive in equal measure, and he was only able to be that way because he had been able to hide himself and remain below his family’s interest.

He had calculated that by insulting his father periodically, saying the occasional jest or loaded sentence, he would continue to remain so.

He knew that if anyone were to have taken one real look, or an actual study of him, they’d notice he was not a Druchii in anyway other than appearance.

He wasn’t wrathful or warlike in the least, and the rumors among the household staff that he killed animals… were started by Narien himself.

The only thing he was able to raise as a weapon was his tongue, and even that he resented.

Touching Elianna the way he had, baring her the way he had, it made him almost ill to have acted in such a fashion.

Looking at her sleeping form he still felt his compulsion to tell her so. He wanted to apologise, profusely to make right the ill he had done, even though he knew that it had spared her from a worse fate; it hurt him.

But he knew he couldn’t…

Though she was an Asur, he knew that she was his parent’s property; and as such she was a faithful servant of the Naguii.

Though she was indeed grateful to have been saved from the rape he was sure that to make her privy to his secret, to actually reveal to another living soul what he was really like… His father might just scourge him to within an inch of his life, if not kill him for his weakness outright.

It wouldn’t be her fault to tell Titos, but Narien knew that he shouldn’t risk it. It would put her under as much duress as him, and it was wholly not worth it.

He sat at his writing desk and laid down his books.

He tried to make as little noise as he could but Elianna still stirred, raising her head her hair fell around her face disheveled.

“M-My lord? Wha-what is it?”

She groggily sat up, and he smirked as she rubbed her face and moved. He shook his head when he saw how his spare tunic was tightly gripping her body.

“Lay back down, you need not concern yourself.” He replied.

The blonde moved her hair from her eyes and blinked as she looked at the youngest Naguii.

“Is your lord father still hosting young Kalinside?” she asked.

Her breath somewhat ragged and her face tense, her tone of voice was as if she had suddenly come to and felt expected to work; to take care of everything as regarded the guest.

Rolling his eyes at the thought of his father and Jaylish Narien nodded, “Aye…” but he couldn’t leave it at that without adding a whining comment, “though I could care less.”

Elianna tensed and once her eyes focused on his face she looked down uneasily, noticing his wounds: a broken lip and cut forehead.

“Sorry, master.” She meekly spoke.

She began pushing the sheets off and moving towards the edge of the bed.

Narien looked over at her and furrowed his brow as she explained,

“I t-thank you my lord… truly. But… I feel far too indebted, if I were to be seen in your bed? I shan’t be so spoiled, nor so entitled.”

She nodded and stepped up from the plush sheets, reinforcing “I cannot…”

Narien sat up, his voice breaking uncharacteristically, “Wait! Surely you can’t refuse if I were to order it?”

Elianna stopped mid step, the bangles at her ankle jingling.

She stuttered, “M-my lord… I ought to rest in my own chamber.”

She looked down and avoided his eyes, “I shouldn’t soil your sheets with my lowly presence and sex. You’ve shown me a mercy… I shall never forget it I swear, nor should I speak of it, but… I must return to where I belong.” Her voice quivered with gratitude, but she seemed unbelievably melancholic.

Though she had known nothing but slavery her entire life Narien had unwittingly given her a moment and an interaction, however brief, that made her imagine and see a life outside of service and bondage.

A different life

One without chains

_The cruelest temptation of all…_

She bowed her head and stepped towards the door.

Narien lunged forwards and touched his fingers to her wrist, “Please… I demand you stay!”

Elianna gulped and turned; her eyes and face full of fear.

‘Maybe…’ Narien thought ‘Maybe I could…’

He let go of her slowly and nodded, “I doubt anyone will give you ill will if I ordered you to sleep _with me_.”

Her eyes widened and she immediately dropped her head in submission, “M-my lord… I o-of course, I live to-“

Narien extended his arm and touched the side of her forearm.

“I do not mean you to ‘lie with me’.”

She looked up hesitantly, her face puzzled as she risked a sentence, “My lord… I do not understand…”

Narien’s face began to redden.

He swallowed and stepped past her to barre the door.

“I simply order you to lie _in_ my bed.”

Elianna hesitated, but complied, returning to the side of the bed and sitting down onto the sheeting.

Narien followed, nervously sitting beside her.

The Asur’s face began to pale and she visibly shook with every beat of her heart.

Compelled by his honesty Narien spoke, “I will not touch you in the manner which you fear…”

Elianna remained staring at the ground and quiet.

Taking up his sheet Narien wrapped it around her and pushed her hair from her face.

She was visibly uncomfortable but, she couldn’t do anything about it.

Touching her shoulder he encouraged her to lie down.

Elianna felt scared, yet as a slave, with no concept of choice, she naturally complied with his touch.

Sitting up from the bed Narien went about the room as he snuffed the flames of the sconces, until the only illumination was that of the fireplace.

In the warm, orange, light he crawled over top of Elianna and laid himself down on her other side.

She was wrapped in the sheeting, but still felt him along her back.

“If I sleep as well, then no one will be the wiser as to what actually happened, yes?” He laughed, “Tis a foolproof plan.”

She didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to breathe, her mind raced and she was petrified that it was all part of some elaborate scheme.

But after several minutes of silence Elianna lifted the heavy bedding off of her and then extended her hand to touch her bed-fellow tentatively.

After her exhausted nap and the arrival of her ‘host’ the Asur felt absolutely uncomfortable at the proximity of a male Druchii.

Her terrifying experience with the Naguii men reminded her that she was never safe. Even within the walls of her ‘home’. And though she desired to be alone in her cell in the female servant’s quarters she was bound to oblige the words and orders of her owning family.

Even if she wanted nothing to do with another living soul, especially a young man, such as Narien…

She was apprehensive of his performance so far, and her fearful mind thought only of a ruse. But as time marched on and she looked him over she saw that after her prodding, he had said nothing and remained perfectly still.

His only movement was his steady and deep breathing. She quickly realised that the young Naguii had actually fallen asleep.

Disarmed by Narien’s honesty and his authenticity she remained uneasy, but eventually she leaned away from him and thought,

‘Nothing like Lady Raveres…’

Thinking about the Druchii woman made a flash of her pale, beautiful, face pass through Elianna’s mind. And then she thought of Jaylish’s words about Araby…

The sand, the palms… The strange peoples…

She looked across the sheets in the low firelight and her eyes traced the curves and rolls in the material, imagining them as dunes and hills of sand, amidst a vast ocean of desert.

The thought of it made her shudder.

‘I wonder how she’s faring though…’ Furrowing her brow and looking towards the fireplace the high-elf wondered, ‘Do I miss her?’

Slowly lying back down Elianna stared at the canopy of the bed.

Sleep didn’t come easily, but eventually, she found herself once more, so mentally exhausted that she finally gave in and slipped into dreaming. With master Narien there, she somehow now felt… safe.

…

Sir Tormande was choking the slave girl while he thrust into her wet vagina.

He grunted and breathed through his teeth as her face shuddered and her eyelids fluttered. Her eyes were rolling around lazily and her tongue stuck out of her open mouth as she shivered and enjoyed the rough orgasm that the knight was giving her.

Her skin was tanned, like the colour of olives, yet her hair was as white as snow.

Her mouth rounded into an O before she smiled while arching her back, hooking her feet around his bare back she drew the knight closer with her legs and strong thighs as she plied her trade and convinced him that he had won her over…

His cock had made her feel _it_ … She wasn’t working when she lay with him. No. When he was with her, she enjoyed herself just as much as he did.

And the knight dully believed it, even though he felt he was wary to such charms and illusions, in the back of his mind she’d convinced his inner monologue that he was indeed, _that good_.

Furrowing his brow and letting go of her neck Tormande shivered and shook as his muscles twitched. With an orgasm wracking his body he tentatively held still and prolonged his pleasure as long as he was able… But before he released he had to feel her ears…

The slave had pointed elf-ears under her white hair, and black makeup thickly lining her eyes…

It wasn’t exactly like Druchii war-paint but, she’d put up as good of a show as his cock required.

Tormande closed his eyes and ran his fingers up the faux cartilage as he shuddered and grunted.

Exhaling in descending tones he let go and planted his arms on either side of her before falling to one side, spent, and satisfied.

She lay under him for several moments before tapping his arm and he allowed her to rise from the bed.

Walking to the boudoir the prostitute removed her white wig and placed it onto one of her many holders. Next she removed the fake ears which she was wearing and placed them into a special box on the wood surface.

Reaching for a cloth near a pitcher and wash basin she began cleaning her lips and groin of Tormande’s seed.

He rolled onto his back and looked over to see his ‘elf’ transformed back to her regular appearance. Her short cropped black hair irritated him, but by now he’d seen her in a state of changing so many times he couldn’t summon the energy to encourage her to redress her head in a new wig.

“Do you really hate her that much then?” she asked with a smile.

Once she cleaned she stepped towards Tormande and stooped, picking up a long pipe from a small tray on the floor at the edge of the bed.

She drew from the end and inhaled the still-burning embers of opium and exhaled a light smoke before offering it to her knight.

He chuckled gruffly and took a long drag of the eastern drug.

“Aye… I’d see her defeated and shamed in battle before reminding her of her sex.”

He exhaled and grunted before happily slapping the woman’s bare ass with his sword-hand.

She shuddered and lost her balance, heady from the drug she let out a pained yelp and slapped her hand against his bare chest as she pressed into his lap.

“Damn it Tormande! I said no slapping, I’ve got that cut and it’s yet to heal you brute!”

Despite their long session the knight’s cock couldn’t help but perk up and remain somewhat erect at her cry of pain and high pitched tone.

Taking another drag from the pipe he grunted in the affirmative and gripped the back of her head.

“How much time?” he asked while exhaling.

She repositioned herself despite his hand on her head and looked over to her boudoir at a tall sand time-glass as she narrowed her eyes.

There was still a small amount in the top part of the item and she replied honestly, she knew him well enough to know just what he wanted now, “Enough for this.”

He chuckled and dropped the pipe off the side of the bed to the tray below.

Keeping his sword-hand on the back of her head and moving his left hand to the base of his cock he held his member straight as he pushed her mouth down around it.

The wet feeling of her tongue and mouth around his head made him groan and grunt out happily as she began to lick and descend down the shaft.

She loudly exhaled and coughed before slurping and sucking down to the base of his cock.

With a loud laugh Tormande began holding her down as she licked and wriggled her tongue along the underside of his shaft.

“Take it y-you bitch…” he mumbled. Shutting his eyes tightly he grunted and forced the woman down even lower until her nose was pressed into the flesh of his thigh.

Visions of flowing white hair began plaguing him and he grit his teeth as he growled and began directing the woman up and down his manhood.

‘That cunt…’ he thought.

Looking across the room at the white wig on its stand he shivered and shook his head from side to side.

_“You fucking… whore…”_ he whispered.

Throwing his head back and whispering in Druhir he smirked as called out _“Sa’an’ishar!”_ around him the woman moaned and coughed, her mouth full and tongue wildly moving along his skin.

…

Raveres felt tightness under her, but it was coupled with a sensation of weightlessness.

Blinking and furrowing her brow flashes of the great beast went through her mind and she imagined that she must have been held by the large trunks of the creature’s tentacles.

Growling groggily and lashing with her hands she began to move and stir, beating at whatever it was that had wrapped her in its perverse embrace.

A familiar voice began speaking to her and as her eyes came to focus she saw what, and who, it was that had her in its grip.

Yurin was protesting and doing his best to hold her in his arms as they were being steadily drawn up from the chasm of the ship’s lower decks.

“My lady!” he cried in Druhir.

When she finally recognised and saw his face she shuddered and only minutely relaxed.

“Wha-“ she began

“You slew Annio…” he interrupted.

She stopped and sat still for a moment, her eyes focusing on his features.

Nodding Yurin continued, “Prince Balik rallied the men and held the deck as we were attacked and you were stolen down below.”

She furrowed her brow and breathed heavily as her body’s injuries and pulled muscles began to re-register their fatigue and pain.

“After putting the tentacles to flame and sword the prince… he took rope in his hands and dove into the ship after you.”

The Druchii leaned back in Yurin’s arms, unable to hold herself up any longer.

They were just coming out of the deck’s hatch and the light of torches and lanterns greeted them.

The deck was awash with blood and mangled corpses, both from the pirates earlier during their boarding, and also from the more recent battle with the ship’s tentacles. Arabyans laid here and there, arms and hands strewn about like cuttings on an abattoir’s floor.

Raveres furrowed her brow and looked back at her retainer, “why… you?” she asked weakly.

Yurin’s pale face and sickened features nodded, and he laughed uncomfortably “I… well, after the knight was felled and the squire brought him back over to the dhow I had to… I had to follow you.”

Arabyan crewmates began to untie them from the rigging and help take Raveres into their arms, “I couldn’t go back unless I tried something, the prince led down the decks first, and…” he gulped nervously as he finished with a nod, “And I followed.”

The ship was groaning and crackling from the damage that the beast’s death throes had caused, but the she-elf was far too out of it to focus or take stock of anything as her mind raced.

“The prince…” She said in disbelief, and let out a groan of pain as her bewildered features repeated, “and, you?”

She shook and the Arabyans looked at her with both fear and awe as they carried her.

Yurin issued some orders and the men nodded as they brought her down.

They’d fashioned a stretcher and were carefully laying Raveres atop it as she lost consciousness again.

“We’ll be away soon my lady… and fear not we shall do as you bid.”

Her arms limply fell at her sides and her brow furrowed as she was hoisted up by a team and carried towards the rail.

Before she was carried off the ship she groaned and brought her left hand towards her neck, scratching futility at her chest through the neck-hole of her cuirass.

“I need… I need to…”

Yurin furrowed his grimy brow in concern, “My lady?”

She growled and snapped her head up as she looked at the Arabyans.

“I must walk upon my own!”

Yurin’s face was utterly dumbfounded, “M-my lady! You’ve lost so much blood… When the Prince found you he said he thought you were dead!”

The Arabyans holding her up looked tensely from lady to translator as she began to curl and fight against the stretcher and their grip, obviously trying to escape them.

“Sile-silence! She hissed.

Becoming more aware and awake she blinked and looked at the men.

Fearfully they began to comply and lower her down.

Yurin shook his head and pointed at them and they began raising her back up.

Swearing and protesting Raveres began wasting the energy she had left on her impotent anger.

Pleading with her Yurin cried, “My lady! Please, look at yourself, you’re nearly dead! There’s nothing more for you to prove, you’ve earned each one of these men’s respect. But…” he exhaled wearily.

“If you struggle much more you’ll die!”

The pain in her body felt localised in a few severe places, and as soon as he said she should look upon her wounds there were several burning pains along her torso.

Looking down at her cuirass she saw several puncture marks and deep divots created from the creature’s teeth.

But three of the blood stained holes stole her attention.

Protruding from these red wounds in the steel were broken pieces of teeth.

At the sight of them Raveres froze and she shivered with pain.

Biting her lip as she held back a groan and an immediate fear came through her mind.

Something that she didn’t think she’d ever consider something worth thinking of at the moment.

Lying back on the stretcher she let out a low moan of pain and reached her hand out towards Yurin as she said his name.

“How quickly can we make it to Al Daouk?” she asked.

Appearing at her side Yurin asked the question of the nearest Arabyan, and translated “A day, maybe less if we also row.”

She let out a high-pitched groan and looked down again, delirium now beginning to dig its evil fingers into her mind.

“I need… I need a surgeon and healers… and apothecary…”

Yurin nodded and his face became tense.

“I… cannot…” she huffed in pain and the men began bringing her across the small span between the ships.

She couldn’t bring herself to speak it aloud, yet a fear began to cloud her mind greater than dying herself, instead she thought about the death of her future…

“Fear naught my lady, there’s a surgeon aboard our ship, you shall live…” He smirked and looked at the crewmen before adding, “The men see you as a hero you know.”

She felt her skin burn and her wounds ache from where the ichor and disgusting grime of battle had touched her. But a swell of pride came as soon as Yurin told her she was an object of adoration.

‘A… hero?’ she repeated weakly. Chuckling painfully she lay back on the stretcher as the men carried her.

…

After bringing Raveres back aboard the dhow the men took her below as soon as possible.

The whole while Yurin was at her side, and as soon as they were in the surgeon’s cabin the small, almost dwarfish, medical man bellowed the crewmen to leave.

Yurin however refused.

The surgeon’s assistants went from injured man to injured man, doing their best to aid the wailing and dying, before moving on to those who had better chances of survival.

Triage was a nasty business and the large room smelt of rot and filth. Dead bodies were moved off the tables or out of hammocks and into a pile at the fore of the cabin.

Coppery blood tinged the air and Raveres’ hand gripped at Yurin’s tunic tightly as she grit her teeth and held her eyes closed.

“I will not go into the afterlife devoid of a servant Yurin…”

Tensing and breathing through her teeth she took hold of his arm and looked up at him with red-blood shot eyes.

He raised an eyebrow incredulously, ‘Surely she’s not serious! It’s the… the battle-fatigue! It must be!’

The surgeon pointed to her armour and ordered it off.

“You must let go my lady… I’ve to help the surgeon.” He said with a near-whine.

Shivering and lowering her head back down onto the table she gruffly snarled, “You shall not let me die alone Yurin…”

He nodded and her breathing decreased in volume as Yurin began for the clasps of the cuirass.

“You’re not to die my lady… You’re not to die…”

With a grunt Yurin brought the front of the cuirass up and off her torso. The teeth hadn’t been driven into her flesh as deeply as she had feared and once the Druchii plate was away Raveres let out a great sigh of relief to see that each puncture which had a tooth lodged in it, remained in the steel of the armour and the longest of them was maybe two inches.

Closing her eyes and allowing herself to relax she finally passed out as the surgeon began directing Yurin and going about his work.

…

“Sir Jean?” Jacque asked lowly.

The knight groaned and came to, blinking fiercely as he awoke.

Upon seeing his master wake the young boy let out a heavy breath and smiled.

“Sir Jean!” he cried.

The elder Breton coughed and wheezed as he spoke, “We won my boy?”

The squire nodded, “we did indeed… The… beast was slaughtered by Raveres. And…” he laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “The prince rallied the men…”

Sir Jean furrowed his brow as he processed the information.

He groaned in pain before letting out a chuckle and coughing, “The prince rallied them? By the gods The Lady hasn’t deserted us yet.”

Jacque nodded emphatically, “We’re away and sailing now, ‘full to’ and ‘all sheet’s a blowing’”

He smiled, “At least that’s what Yurin said the men were saying…”

Sir Jean nodded weakly as he eyed his surroundings.

He was de-armoured and lying in his hammock. His chest bound with white cloth, poultice aromatically wafting up to his face. While Jacque sat on the floor beside him, his legs folded like an Empire pretzel.

Sir Jean grumbled and sat up somewhat in his bedding, “And the Druchii?” he shook his head in irritation, “Did she find her gold?”

Jacque pursed his lips, “The men tore the ship apart, Prince Balik took some maps and charts, but… The corruption of the ship had consumed most of what else was aboard.”

Sir Jean huffed and took a breath painfully.

Wincing he spoke again, “How many dead?”

Jacque looked down, “I… I don’t know sir…”

Grumbling and extending his arms for balance Sir Jean trying to raise himself from the hammock, immediately the boy stood and tried to dissuade his master, “Please Sir Jean! The surgeon said you’re lucky to still live; many of your ribs were broken!”

He shook his head and held his hands out to barre the knight’s advance, “You must rest! We’re sailing back to port now.”

“But…” The knight groaned as he lay back down, privately regretting that his tired old frame was not as robust as it once was.

“The Druchii is surely to be mad with anger at the loss of her prize.”

Jacque nodded before a small smile came across his lips, “She and Yurin are pouring over the charts that Balik stole away.”

He looked towards the door to their cabin.

“After putting to port we’re returning to sea…” he seemed somewhat unsure, “Or, perhaps it shall be just her, Yurin, and Balik… But, master, they discovered the pirate’s hoard!”

Sir Jean huffed and looked upwards, “Did they? Did they indeed…”

He coughed again and winced.

Jacque’s face was pained and he blinked uneasily.

“Is there anything I may get you master?”

Sir Jean looked towards their cabin’s small window.

He ignored his squire’s question as he saw the natural light, “Is it daybreak?”

Jacque looked to the porthole and nodded, “Aye… It’s nearing afternoon…”

“Have you not slept my boy?” Jean asked in surprise.

Jacque’s smile faded and his body visibly shuddered.

He shook his head nervously before blinking his eyes, “No… I c-“

He looked away and bit his tongue.

“Not yet master.”

Sir Jean furrowed his brow, and beckoned his squire forwards. Extending his hand and touching Jacque’s shoulder the knight sternly eyed his boy.

“You did nothing wrong, and you have done everything I expected of you. You saved my life my boy.”

Jacque nodded, before letting out a weary breath, “I can’t…” his face contorted and the young squire squirmed under the paternal watch of his master.

He looked down and let out a whimper.

“I can’t stop seeing those… _things_ …”

Sir Jean nodded knowingly, and at once felt the pain of his failure.

He failed to protect the boy from the horrors of chaos… He failed to adequately prepare him… He should have…

His thoughts faltered, ‘I should have what? Predicted that they’d have fallen prey to a chaos prince? To a daemon’s touch?’

Jean looked at Jacque and saw tears fall slowly down the young boy’s face.

“They’re gone my boy.”

Slowly the squire looked up, his face red and ashamed.

“There’s nothing to fear in your tears…”

Jacque furrowed his brow and tried to hold back his emotions.

“I just… I feel so selfish! And I… I can’t stop them from banging onto my mind! I shut my eyes and I hear it… I close my mind and I can feel them looking at me… Breathing, lunging forwards…”

The squire stifled a cry and Sir Jean extended his other arm as he tried to console him.

Memories flashed through his mind.

The cries… the thousand cries… The screams…

…

“ _Jean Le Tours!”_

The future knight had slept uneasily and was being yelled at by his first master.

Sir Charles Artois kicked his squire, “Shall I dress myself?” he asked rhetorically.

Shaking his head and standing up Jean quickly apologised, “N-no my lord!”

The knight grunted and nodded, “Good, now come with me.”

They were in the war camp of Duke Girard Dupuis.

The Duke had made war on his neighbour Duke Meroux due to a series of perceived insults and obscure pieces of law. Suffice it to say, the lines were eventually drawn; the casus belli made sound, and the levies were called in.

The small war had been neck and neck so far, but Lord Girard thought himself a worthy heir to Gilles Le Breton, and had draughted a master plan.

Setting light to several key towns within his enemy’s demesne he’d been able to lure Duke Meroux’s forces into a low sloping field. The topography of which he erroneously assumed to be in his favour…

Jean Le Tours was a humble squire, tending to his lord Sir Charles Artois and when the letters came that their liege had summoned his men to war the eager young Jean was quite emphatic to test his mettle and to wet his blade in true honourable combat.

He didn’t understand the war’s meaning. He didn’t follow the politicking.

But at the time, the truth was; he didn’t care.

He was brash. He was stupid, and he wanted to kill to earn his battle spurs.

Like many times before he helped to dress his lord in his armour, yet this was no tourney, and his master’s lance was not a blunted tip.

It was a full steel spear atop it.

The men in the camp were rowdy, the peasant bowmen uneasy, the assorted bill-men and foot soldiers ravenous.

If he had of thought for once about what was to come he might have realised it…

But he often thought that, that was merely wishful thinking on a penitent old man’s part.

Jean was on foot, not enough horses had been raised or ‘requisitioned’ from peasant farms to fully outfit a mounted arm of yeomen or light cavalry, and so the few knights that Duke Dupuis had, he kept near himself, acting as both his body guard and heavy shock cavalry.

They began their battle around midday.

The enemy took to the field first. They’d made token entrenchments and spikes, but appeared quite ready to move should the need arise.

When the line of Dupuis’ infantry rounded down the slope and his cavalry led the left flank he realised only too late that he’d been the one ensnared.

On either side of the field Duke Meroux had hidden his own cavalry and auxiliary archers.

What commenced after his infantry feinted and made a false retreat was the whole-sale destruction of Duke Dupuis’ forces.

Enveloping and trapping his army in the middle of the sloped field Duke Meroux easily began to whittle down and erode his enemy’s number.

Nearer the vanguard Jean was trapped, along with many of the other squires, and was fighting tooth and nail against their opponents.

The noise of the arrows… hundreds of them raining down upon his fellows, the wet smacking sound they made when they embedded in a horses’ flank. The grotesque crying of the beasts and men rose in an awful chorus.

It smelt worse, and the sound haunted his dreams every night after, for years.

He was one of the few who’d survived the initial onslaught, and only through the mercy of Duke Meroux did the young Jean survive.

Duke Dupuis died in the hail of arrows; his horse was felled under him and he flew from the saddle. Crumpling into an armoured heap, never to rise again…

Around his standard his knights fell, either to pike and sword, or to the consistent rain of arrows.

The survivors were rounded together and when shown the mass of men still living under Meroux’s command, they quickly surrendered.

Among those men was Jean Le Tours.

Given leave by his captors to find his master among the fallen, the young squire came to see that Sir Charles Artois had been impaled via lance.

The tip of the long weapon was lodged through him, aimed at the right of his tabard it ruined his colours and had stained the lightly dyed banner dark red with his dried blood.

To see his knightly master dead… to know that the battle was folly, and that the war had been proven pointless and undone in such quick succession…

Jean received a blow which laid him low for the next decade of his life.

Duke Meroux absorbed the former demesne of Duke Dupuis and petitioned the King to see Dupuis’ issue stripped of all titles and additional lands. Citing the brutality of Dupuis’ actions during the brief war, and using ancient cases as precedent Meroux succeeded.

He became sole ruler of the region, Dupuis’ family fled Bretonnia in shame, and those former knights and servants pledged fealty to Meroux.

Among those to do such a pledge was Jean… on his knees in the mud of the bloody battlefield, he swore to obey the man who had killed his master, and his liege.

Rightly or wrongly it was a truth which he had never been able to divorce from the recesses of his mind, and now, over thirty years later its scents, its noise, still haunted and could be heard by the knight.

…

Watching Jacque tear up and fail to hold himself steady made Sir Jean nearly divulge his greatest secret.

And as he opened his mouth a flutter of doubt came across his heart and he paused.

‘It would not do what you wish it would…’ he pursed his lips and let go of Jacque’s shoulders. ‘You can’t teach him everything… you can’t save everyone…’

“Jacque, my boy…”

The squire tensed and held his quivering jaw closed tightly.

“It’s okay to feel as you do… You were so strong…” he nodded and smiled painfully. “The Lady has you close in her heart.”

Jacque shook his head and looked away, before asking meekly, “Truly?”

The knight, his father, nodded, with pride and guilt swelling in his chest, “Truly.”

…

In the captain’s cabin Raveres stood beside Yurin as she, Prince Balik, Asada’s first mate Dahi, and the ship’s lieutenant Samahd.

The Druchii demanded to stand as soon as her wounds were cleaned, stitched, and poultices applied.

Yurin tried to encourage her to remain if not in the surgery then at least in her cabin but she replied caustically, “I’ve wasted more than enough time convalescing, give me something to dull the pain and help me up!”

Nodding at her order Yurin spoke with the surgeon and they resolved to give her a small dose of poppy-oil.

The pain-killing narcotic was better administered via smoke, but liquid was just as potent. And once the foul phial emptied onto her tongue she immediately felt the effects of the opiate, and could move under her own steam. Though she had needed Yurin’s help to rise off the surgeon’s table.

Exiting the bloody infirmary the Druchii staggered into the captain’s cabin and, to the surprise of the officers, demanded that they begin their planning.

Her blouse had been ruined from blood, sweat, and the tears in it. To properly address her most grievous wounds, the surgeon had the shirt cut off.

Thankfully she was unconscious for the procedure. But Yurin made efforts to conserve her dignity. And though the other men in the surgery tried to steal a view of her nude body, the freckles of blood, and overall tenseness of the situation helped to mitigate any licentious interest the men would have otherwise had in the she-elf.

Yurin held the rags of her ruined shirt across her breast, and was doing his best to follow the dwarfish surgeon’s clinical example.

Once it was clear she was not to die, and her wounds were not about to kill her, the healer nodded to Yurin and explained what he was to do; “You shall follow my assistant’s instruction and wrap her body in these bandages.”

The translator laid the ruined shirt across her breast as best as possible and freed his hands.

“She’s been exposed to foulness and corruption. Lest it set into her wounds and begin a rot you must make sure that these are bound tightly to her flesh.”

The assistant brought forwards a pot of sweet smelling liquid and a box of cloth lengths.

Turning to his other patients the dwarfish healer pointed to her covered bosom, “She’s cuts and wounds there too.” He looked at Yurin and smirked, “I think you’d have more to fear from her if your negligence led to their loss, than if you maintained decorum.”

Yurin’s eyes widened and he exclaimed in Arabyan, “They can rot off?!”

The surgeon began examining the cauterised stump of Balik’s horrifically wounded retainer and nodded, “They can indeed. And where I was you I’d begin applying those now.”

Pulling away the shirt Yurin gulped and thought only of ensuring the security of his master’s person. Disregarding any other thoughts he followed the assistant’s instruction scrupulously.

Starting from under her arms, across her breasts, and ending at the base of her abdomen and waist her torso became covered by cloth bandages. As the poultice began to air-dry her chest became encased in a hard, plain-cloth, faux bodice.

Now standing in the captain’s cabin reeking of ointment and sickness Raveres gripped the edge of the table and swayed in tune with the waves.

“And this shoal,” she grunted and shook her head and corrected, “This _archipelago_ , by our current heading here, how far off are we?”

Yurin repeated the words and the gruff sailors nodded as they plied over the stolen pirate’s charts.

Samahd brought Asada’s last charted map onto the table and indicated the similarities in their last plotted position and the possible routes to the hoard.

Her retainer explained, “Samahd says that we’re a quarter of a day off, maybe less…”

Pointing forwards with her left index finger, she touched the papyrus map and immediately hissed in pain.

The men looked at her uneasily as she withdrew the hand and bit her tongue.

Raveres’ left hand was wrapped expertly at each fingertip, but the loss of her nails would be an irritant she’d not get used to for a while yet.

“Yurin… ask them if we’ve the men to make to and reach the hoard.”

The officers spoke amongst one another and Prince Balik raised a brow and hid a pained expression as he watched the Druchii occasionally shiver in pain.

The acting captain Dahi eventually shook his head as he looked at Raveres. Yurin took a breath before speaking in Druhir,

“He says that we’re too torn and injured; we must put to port as soon as possible. Nearly half the crew was devastated from the great beast.”

Looking down at the map the she-elf let out a grumble as her abdomen burned.

Yurin continued to repeat Dahi’s words, “Only a quarter of our men are unmarred from the krakens’ wroth.”

Raveres nodded reluctantly.

Flashes of loss came across her mind and she shivered at the thought of the waters claiming the trove.

“Then we must double our efforts, we’ve to make port as soon as possible…”

Looking up from the map Raveres furrowed her brow. The men were looking at her with a strange expression. Even Prince Balik had a reserved visage.

Dahi looked from Samahd to prince Balik, before speaking, his voice was quiet. And Yurin only translated after he finished,

“They…” he paused and cleared his throat, “They’re thanking you my lady.”

Raveres looked at her translator uneasily before looking at the men.

“Dahi and Samahd say that if it were not for you diving below and slaying the foul daemon captain, the whole crew would have been pulled under the waves.”

She opened her mouth and then stopped.

‘Do they not know what happened?’ her mind became hazy as she tried to picture the events of the night.

‘Do I even remember what had happened?’

Prince Balik bowed his head and tapped his blade; Yurin quickly repeated his words “The prince says that if not for your example he wouldn’t have had the courage to fight as hard as he did.”

Looking at the three men the Druchii began to feel a strange sensation.

It was pride and ego, as well as something new…

‘The knight’ she thought suddenly.

She looked at the men and bowed her head at the neck, somewhat uncomfortably, “Tell them I only had vengeance on my mind. Their praise is unwarranted.”

Turning and pushing off the table Raveres ducked slightly as she stepped through the door.

Yurin furrowed his brow in surprise, as did the three other men.

As she limped down the corridor she called, “Just, get us back to the city…”

Passing crewmen who stood on either side of the cabin’s door she whispered, “I must see to… I...”

With a grumble she passed the men and headed to her own cabin.

Several tense minutes passed, and she looked down over her marred body.

Scrapes, bruises, and deep cuts adorned her arms.

Some bled through the bandages; others leaked a putrid liquid which turned the previously clean cloth yellow.

Her left hand burned and she looked at the thick padded fingers with a grimace.

‘How long before they grow back?’ she wondered selfishly.

She looked at her torso and brought her bruised and rough right hand to tentatively touch the hardening cloth binding her breasts.

Hanging around her neck remained her amulet, ‘it’s still there mother…’ she thought with a scoff. ‘How much has this trinket helped I wonder?’

Looking at the ominous dark metal she shuddered and lowered into a squat.

“It hurts…” she whispered.

Darting her eyes to the door Raveres began a low groan as she tried to count the cuts and marks upon her flesh that she could see.

Almost as if in reply to her complaint her memories reminded her, ‘Pain is the sweetest reminder of life, my daughter.’

Shutting her eyes she began to picture her home, the jubilant return and glory which awaited her.

Yet it didn’t seem as bright when she had daydreamt about it before…

In an embarrassing flash she began to think about when she had touched herself and grew mad with excitement at the thoughts of what she’d do in revenge to Annio’s body.

Burning him… Scourging him, flaying, gutting

All manner of pleasures which never were to be…

Rather than a painful and retributive execution she had inadvertently provided _mercy_ to the bastard.

She shook with revulsion and pictured his rotted and feted face, the blue lighting around them, and the pleading voice which cried out to her; ‘kill the beast… we are bound to its fate…’

“Accursed and tainted” she remarked.

The strong masculine features of his face had melted to horror.

The dashing confidence, the skill, the finesse, the entirety of the man’s life became a howling ruin. Devoid of reason, of humanity, of anything…

‘A powerful reminder’ she eventually thought.

Shivering in disgust as she pictured his twisted and rotten body Raveres stood and ran her right hand through her hair.

Her face and hair was slick with oil and grime.

Though Yurin had endeavoured to clean off her skin she could still feel as if the blood and ichor of the beast was upon her.

The memory of Annio’s discarded face slapping her own in the darkness made her gag and lash out in discomfort.

“Gah!”

Rubbing at her cheeks with both her hands she began scratching and madly wiping, driving so hard as to purge the memory of it happening from her mind.

Spitting and letting out a bottled-up scream Raveres stepped towards a water skin hanging near her hammock.

Pouring it into her right hand she began to splash her face ritualistically.

She continued until the whole of the skin was empty.

Covering her eyes she began to descend to her knees and wipe her brow.

‘He’s dead…’ she thought, ‘It’s over… I… I won… it is done’

She let out a breathy laugh of exhaustion and disbelief, “He’s dead…”

She sat on the floor for several minutes before rising.

“The knight… He was struck hard.” She nodded, and whispered “I ought to see to him.”

…

The door to Sir Jean and Jacque’s cabin opened with a low knock.

Raveres stepped through and into the room, her face flush and her eyes red. The squire leapt up and rubbed at his running nose with the sleeve of his shirt under his chainmail.

She smiled politely at the young human before looking at the laying knight.

“They told me I would find you here.”

Sir Jean grunted and chuckled hollowly, “You know she-elf… I’ve a bone or two to pick with you.”

She looked down and avoided the knight’s gaze.

“But since you came, I think you knew that already…”

She slowly looked back up and met the knight’s eyes.

Grimacing in pain Jean sighed heavily, “No matter, as I said to you before I was a fool to think I could change your nature, and I was a fool to try and take a bone from the wolf’s mouth.”

Raveres pursed her lips and entered the room proper.

Jacque pointed to her torso and exclaimed as his face grew in concern.

Sir Jean repeated his question, “He wonders how badly the beast had marred you…”

She looked down and shook her head, “I shall live…”

“But you, knight?”

Sir Jean nodded, “Aye… I too shall live. Only broken ribs, I’ve broken them before… But, this was the first time I didn’t see the blow coming.”

Raveres knew he had meant to remind her of her part in his injury, and she was going to be lenient to him for the time being, ‘But my patience for ownership of his condition does have its limits…’

Rising in his hammock as best he could into a seated position Sir Jean huffed wearily and changed his tone. Altering the atmosphere of the room, “So… your quarry… did you find him?”

The Druchii nodded.

Sir Jean pursed his lips and they shared a knowing glance.

“And?”

Raveres shut her eyes and held her breath a moment.

“I killed him.”

The knight looked at Jacque and then back at the she-elf.

“So your vengeance, has it been satisfied?”

Exhaling unhappily she nodded, “Yes.”

“And your men? They’re still dead, correct?”

Raveres raised a brow and moved uncomfortably, somewhat surprised, “What?”

Sir Jean narrowed his brow and raised a finger, “The Druchii you sailed with. Are their ghosts satisfied? Are you done now?”

Unable to understand what he was getting at the knight continued and his voice became heated, periodically he would glance at Jacque, and his words would rise with more emphasis, “You never wanted to become my student did you? You wanted my blade, which was all. You made use of me, and now that I am broken you’ve come to see us off.”

Raveres felt a twinge of pain in her chest and her body felt cool.

“I knew as soon as you were taken with madness on the deck. I shouldn’t have stayed so long with you, after the embassy I should have known.”

He spoke to Jacque in Bretonnian and the boy reluctantly left the room. Turning back to her his face rose in contempt as he spoke,

“You are a creature of malice, and I have done my duty as far as I had sworn. Yet even if I hadn’t I see what I am to you.”

Raveres felt her words choke in her throat and the rawness of everything surprised her to the point of muteness.

“Your crew, myself, these Arabyans, Yurin” he laughed sarcastically, “Even Prince Balik…”

He gripped his side tightly and groaned in pain, “We’re just to be used by you and discarded. Captain Asada… when he died you didn’t bat a lash, why-” he struggled to catch his breath, “Why I wager you probably relished his death.”

Raveres grit her teeth and avoided the knight’s eyes.

As the Breton caught his shallow breaths she finally found her tongue and began lowly, her mind racing and trying to articulate some form of response before he continued berating her.

“I was prepared to make myself humble and express regret at your wounds, as well as my own folly.”

She looked up and her lip snarled, “But I have been a fool.”

Her eyes appeared hurt, and her heart felt something more painful than everything so far as she spoke, “I was a fool to think that an old, _broken_ human had anything to offer _me_. And I am gladdened!”

Her voice rose, “Gladdened that I must maintain the act no longer!” she gave a fake smile and she tried to mock his tone, “I am free of your hand, and you are right… You were but a sword.” She nodded, “A _tool_ and you played your part well enough.”

Her voice faltered and for a moment Sir Jean thought he saw something through her reddened cheeks.

“I shall use those around me until I see myself satisfied… We will put into port and dump you as well as the other useless offal aboard on the docks and recover my fortune.”

Her hand shook and her face tightened, “I…”

Sir Jean maintained a stern expression, and she faltered for a moment before leaving.

Nearly knocking Jacque over, she stormed out of the room and towards her own cabin.

…

Closing the door with a heavy slam Raveres looked down at her ruined hands and wounded body again.

Her lips quivered and she felt a new wound forming in her.

_Betrayal_ …

The human had cut her worse than Annio’s kiss had; she’d been gored more than the monster ever could have done to her, shame, guilt, fear…

Quiet tears fell down her cheeks and she looked at her red and brutalised right palm.

“Can I change?” she whispered.

‘He was right…’

Her acting, her lies, desires, everything.

It was paradoxical; she had used him and in a way she had thought of the others as the knight described but…

There was truth there too. Not everything had been an act.

She touched her neck and remembered the knight’s dagger to her flesh.

“I cannot!” she wailed, “And _I shall not!_ ”

She exhaled, ‘I will not be made a _fool_ again. I will not be treated thus, myself.’

With a bite of her lip she turned and leaned her back against the door of the cabin.

She was so tired and hurt that tears stopped flowing and she had no energy to weep or to let out anything but a steady breath.

Staring at her sword and damaged armour at the corner of the room she maintained her rhythmic breathing.

Her eyes were dry and streaks of her black war paint had bled down her face.

Her chest ached and every wound burned dully as if the painkiller wasn’t doing anything at all.

The door rapped and she barely registered the noise.

“My lady?” Yurin called.

She continued to stare aimlessly at the corner of the room.

Utterly drained and weary from it all she remained silent.

“My lady, are you inside?”

He remained outside the door, fear and decorum ensuring he wasn’t going to open it yet.

She leaned her head and looked up at the ceiling of the low roofed cabin as Yurin knocked again, “my lady…”

She shut her eyes and held her right hand to her amulet, thinking of home.

‘He’ll be there until I say otherwise… you know it…’

Clearing her throat she finally responded to his knocks and words.

“Go away.”

On the other side the retainer furrowed his brow, and asked “My lady?” in confusion.

Tilting her head back down weakly she let out a low whimper of pain as he eventually complied and walked back down the corridor.

Noiselessly Raveres slid onto her side and lay on the floor.

Clutching at her amulet she held her eyes tightly shut and began to pray.

Yet it wasn’t a directed prayer to any god specifically…

It wasn’t for further vengeance, it wasn’t for spite, it wasn’t to reclaim her gold…

Quietly her mental prayer came through and her voice whispered aloud her deepest desire, what it was she wanted more than anything else, “ _I want to go home_ ”

She didn’t know how many times she repeated it, but eventually, to the sound of the water against the hull and the calm swaying of the ship she fell asleep whispering the prayer, ‘I want to go home’

…

When they reached port it was near evening.

Raveres had draped the porthole of her cabin with a dark cloth and was laying in the darkness of her hammock as Yurin stood at attention near the open door.

The light panels of the small cabin’s portal were covered with Arabyan glyphs and words of adoration. Several of the men, who had seen her fight, and those who she’d inadvertently saved during her blood-craze, eagerly let her know of their affection with prayers or praises made by their knives.

Little did they know each time a man, or two, were carving into her door she heard it and it stirred her from her sweat filled nightmares.

After she’d prayed and let out her pain on the floor of the cabin she called for Yurin and made use of him as her mouth piece to the officers.

He was currently finishing his report to her and his voice fluttered with a little measure of excitement.

“We’ve seen the harbour light and the crew’s cheered to be home.”

A low and caustic voice responded in the gloom, “I’ve been listening to their singing” If she could have sounded more unimpressed the retainer didn’t think it was possible.

Yurin swallowed.

His mistress’ voice was cold and in an even tone. But it was absolutely clear she was barely holding back _something_.

He thought it best to avoid rousing that something and instead relayed the acting captain’s latest concern,

“Dahi wonders… are we to take anything aboard while we are stopped?”

Though he knew she was lying in the hammock… she must have been… the whole while they’d been talking he couldn’t see her.

Only her disembodied voice seemed present in the room.

“Yurin? Must I _beat_ my orders into him as a code? Perhaps I could _carve it into his arm_ so he doesn’t forget!”

As a force of habit Yurin averted his eyes and stared down at his boots.

“N-no my lady,”

He heard a hiss and a quiet wince before a heavy breath. Looking up in concern he tried to spot any form of his master.

Her voice changed and she sounded weary with each syllable.

“Unload the dead and the dying, then turn to and put to that trove… Emir’s writ or no it is mine to dispense with as _I_ desire.”

She nodded and Yurin finally saw a glimmer of her inhuman eyes in the darkness. ‘Was she keeping her eyes closed this whole while?’ he wondered.

“Make necessary overtures and promises of wealth to them. Mention whores…” she chuckled and grunted in pain, immediately regretting the laugh. “If these Arabyan sailors are anything like Druchii ones the mere mention of soft _sweet-meat_ ought to be enough to encourage them.”

“Yes my lady…”

Yurin turned and was about to leave when he risked another question,

“The Bretons, they’re currently on deck and by all accounts they intend to be the first away…”

He saw a flash of her shimmering violet eyes reflect some torchlight from the doorway.

“What of it?” she hissed coldly.

Yurin bowed his head at the shadowy face and made a non-verbal apology, he lowered his voice and asked, “Is there any message for them that I might deliver?”

Expecting a caustic or venomous remark Raveres instead let out a sigh.

“Tell the knight he was adequate…” she paused for several moments, and blinked as she thought.

“I shall call on them upon my return, if they remain in the city.”

Yurin nodded, though she sounded pained and somewhat angry she was far more conciliatory than he thought she was going to be.

“Tell the boy…”

The retainer’s eyebrow rose.

“From what I saw he fought well… He’ll make a decent knight.”

Yurin smirked and nodded.

“I will my lady.”

Closing the door she added, “And Yurin?”

“Yes my lady?”

“If another sailor carves into my cabin’s door I’ll whip him.”

…


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bretonnians depart, Raveres claims her fortune, and Lord Titos admires Jaylish’s boldness. There’ll also be a brief Author’s afterword.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Seventeen

Sir Jean was grunting as he stepped down the ramp. Arabyan crewmen leapt to help him, knowing that he had fought as hard and offered them as much encouragement as a hero. But the knight waved them away and trudged on.

Jacque followed his master quietly, carrying his masters’ armour and their swords on his back.

There was a small assembly of the Emir’s men waiting for them and helped to receive the bodies and injured crew.

Sir Jean gave the procession of injured a pained look and turned towards the gate to the city.

“Knight!”

The Druchii’s new retainer yelled to them.

“Sir knight!”

Jacque tugged at his master’s arm “Sir Jean, he beckons us. Aren’t we to stop?”

“I care not for his words.” He responded.

“He speaks only as that…” he paused, his face pained, before tempering his words, “As _she_ would command him.”

‘Spineless cur’ the knight thought disdainfully, yet immediately a pain more than his injuries came through his chest as he thought; ‘You were far too brash Jean… It’s not this man’s fault either.’

Sir Jean stood still and with a weak nod allowed Jacque to intercept the translator.

Watching his squire turn and raise a hand to hail the man Jean remarked; ‘She could have gotten my boy killed…’

His inner voice responded to itself, answering the paternal worry; ‘You’re too old… He held his own, and she was only doing what she told you she was going to… What you should have expected her to do…’

Sir Jean cringed in pain at his own folly.

‘Too old… too slow, too _emotional_ …’

He furrowed his brow and drew a sharp breath, the irritation and burning along his sides told him with familiarity that already the bones were mending, ‘But there are other things which are not so easily fixed…’

Yurin was closer now and Jacque politely smiled at him.

The squire had enjoyed the man earlier, during their voyage, and even before they set sail … sure he seemed somewhat cowardly but, ‘he had dived into the fray after his master.’ Jean thought, ‘So he’s not entirely without courage, no sense, but he has heart…’

‘Gods…’ he groaned, ‘have I erred?’

“Noble Bretonnians…” Yurin spoke, interrupting Sir Jean’s thoughts.

Stepping down the ship’s gangway and onto dry land, he nearly collapsed from the sudden feeling of solid ground underfoot.

Jacque pursed his lips in a near laugh. But the wailing of the injured and the overall sombreness of the docks wouldn’t allow him to chuckle. Not yet at least.

Yurin bowed and quickly addressed them, “My lady extends her praises to you and tells me to impart that she shall call upon you at her return, should you remain in the city.”

Sir Jean huffed heavily and slowly limped towards the gate.

Jacque furrowed his brow and slowly began to follow.

Yurin quickly continued, “She wanted you to know, the boy fought well. My lady says he may become a great knight someday.”

Jacque let out a painful smile as he stepped after Sir Jean.

The elder knight responded, “Look upon that crew Yurin”

The young man looked to his side and his face rose in revulsion,

“That’s what she will wrought,” the knight shook his head, “and may I be marked a liar if it is not so, but this may be the only time to turn from your choice of service to the Druchii.”

Yurin furrowed his brow as he watched the knight continue to walk away, somewhat perturbed by the ominous warning.

“Do you have any message for my lady?”

It was a wonder how the old man was still standing, let alone breathing and moving with his broken ribcage…

Sir Jean paused and looked over his shoulder, “I will not apologise for my words, but…”

He turned and faced Yurin sideways, “I feared for my boy, and spoke in anger… But I suppose we both did.” He nodded, somewhat deflated.

“We may remain in the city, but the first ship bound for Bretonnia shall be our craft home.”

Sir Jean exhaled pensively and turned back to leave. Yurin felt compelled to bow in deference, and spoke in an even tone, “I shall deliver your words to my lady…”

Jacque appeared like he wanted to say something, but he pursed his lips and merely waved a mute farewell to the retainer.

Yurin raised his hand slowly as he weighed the knight’s words.

Shaking his head and watching the knight and squire exit the harbour through the open gate Yurin turned back to the dhow with a confused expression.

The sailors were already readying the rigging and sails to move again.

His eyes darted from the ship to the injured crewmen being helped by their fellows.

He looked at the dead men lying in their sewn up hammocks, their heads sticking out of the top of their wrapping. He solemnly looked them over until he arrived at a man larger than all others.

The blank expression of the dead captain Asada caught his eye.

‘But I made a vow…’ he thought.

He stepped towards the plank and began climbing back aboard.

‘I kissed her blade.’ He nodded and thought in his mother tongue, a language he’d not been able to speak aloud for years. ‘I cannot fail her again.’

Fear crept into his chest as he stepped back onto the deck.

‘I _will not_ fail her with my cowardice…’ he shivered and let out a tense heavy breath as his heart beat louder.

‘I may be no swordsman but… I can’t allow fear to do that to me again…’

He felt somewhat resolved in his efforts, despite the somewhat dour and discouraging farewell of the knight.

Stepping along the deck he looked up and nodded towards the acting captain Dahi near the helm.

The Arabyan scratched his beard nervously and nodded in acknowledgement.

Yurin climbed the aft castle and spoke with the captain for a few moments, watching as the men began getting the ship under weigh.

Climbing back down the stairs to the lower deck the retainer approached Raveres’ room and furrowed his brow to see that the door was ajar.

“My lady?” he asked into the gloom.

Cloaked in the white riding hood and wearing improvised garments over her bandages the Druchii stepped into the sliver of the open door.

“Aye” she responded.

“Are y-you… rested?” he asked nervously, surprised at her sudden appearance.

She narrowed her features and held back a groan of pain, “Well enough, I wish to step to the deck.” She let out a scoff and added, “I can’t sleep at all.”

Yurin nodded, “I’m sure I could get you more poppy oil… but are you sure to be up and moving as you are?”

She stepped out of the room, sword belt around her waist and her wrapped left hand held tightly to her abdomen.

“And miss landfall?” she began walking slowly down the hall, “Only to be woken up _after_ these men have taken the choicest of my wealth?” she laughed, “I think naught.”

The retainer followed closely behind as Raveres brought the hood of the riding cloak up and around over her head.

Her face and hair appeared to have a shine to it… ‘Did she wet her face again?’ Yurin wondered.

“Well,” he bowed his head as she passed him, “you’ll be pleased to know we’re leaving the port now. I spoke with captain Dahi and there’s been a turn in the wind-“

Raveres grit her teeth, pursed her lips, and began a low growl.

Yurin’s voice rose as he explained, “No, no my lady! It’s turned in our favour.”

She smirked and raised a brow privately.

The retainer lowered his voice as they came closer to the stair, “And I…”

He gulped and nodded, “I spoke with the Bretons.”

The Druchii climbed the steps almost noiselessly as Yurin continued, “The knight seemed, penitent for some reason?”

Her voice came out low and petulantly, “Of course he did, that appears to be their habit; do something and feel heavy for it. Say something and become wracked by it.”

She shook her head and the material of the hood crinkled, “I am not thinking more on them until after this voyage.”

Yurin nodded, “Aye my lady, as you say. But they did-“

She turned and had one of her brows arched and her lips plain as she stared the human down.

“Tell me after, but for now, hold your tongue.”

He bowed uncomfortably as they came to the deck, “As you say, my lady.”

…

Raveres surveyed the surface of the ship, on either side the walls of the harbour began to part and the city began to shrink behind them once again.

In the low lighting of morning twilight the city seemed so strange, it felt and appeared to her as if it was a completely different place. Yet she knew that nothing had changed.

‘Well… that’s not entirely true’

She looked down at her wrapped left hand and felt the burning throbbing of her whole body.

“That bastard…” she whispered.

Yurin raised a brow and stepped closer to her side, “My lady?”

She shook her head and adjusted her hood off her right ear, “Nothing…”

The retainer nodded and pointed towards the bow, “Dahi told me that we may just reach the archipelago a little past dawn.”

Quietly the Druchii nodded before looking around at the diminished crew.

A few were stealing glances at her, and with the way she appeared now; the white cloak covering her body, her hood drawn over her features, and small wisps of her silver hair protruding from the corners of the material, she looked almost ghostly in the low light of the night.

Wrapping her good hand around the rail she dug her heels in defiantly and stared forwards, breathing steadily and stewing in her thoughts.

“Yurin…” she said almost wistfully, “bring me some wine.”

He furrowed his brow and stood quietly before finally asking, “Uh… where might I find some?”

Without turning from her vigil, she pointed her bandaged left hand towards the deck, “Asada’s cabin. Also,” she laughed, “Take something of value, anything really, from there as well… _Indulge_ yourself.”

She laughed at her words and added, “I _command_ it.”

Yurin simply let out a breath, “I’ll be back as quick as I may my lady.”

She nodded before mumbling to herself again, “Much good those muscles did you huh? You wretch…”

The she-elf sniggered and Yurin turned to descend back below, somewhat uneasy at her order.

…

When Yurin came to the deck again he brought an uncorked, round, green-glass bottle that he had found near the captain’s hammock.

It smelt like wine, but… He wasn’t really one for anything but unfermented drinks.

A teetotaller his whole life, Yurin had been discouraged from drinking throughout his extensive studies and he wasn’t about to start now… Especially aboard a ship!

‘Hopefully it’s good enough for her.’ He thought vainly.

Raveres didn’t even regard the bottle when she took it from her retainer’s hand.

She simply took a long swig and returned her gaze forwards, across the breaking waves and rolling sea.

“And what did you claim?” she eventually asked.

Yurin furrowed his brow uncomfortably before putting his hand in his pocket. For him it had felt somewhat wrong to take from Asada… but… he had insulted Raveres. And… well, he was dead.

Pulling a silver length of chain from his trousers he showed off his first piece of loot ever.

She smirked and gave the necklace a once over before returning her eyes to the bow.

“Not a bad acquisition… I was imagining you’d take a book or two.”

Yurin returned the chain to his pocket and chuckled nervously, “Well he didn’t have anything that was interesting. Most were logs, or dull low-reading.”

Raveres took another swig and hissed in satisfaction, repeating his words, “dull low-reading…”

She nodded, “You’re a curious sort Yurin.”

He smiled at the compliment and stood at her side as time marched on.

Occasionally Raveres would ask Yurin a question or two and he would then scurry along to Dahi, or to one of the crewmen which she had indicated to repeat it for her, but for the most part the morning was quiet, and even somewhat awkward.

There were some low conversations and jokes amid the crewmen, but a tension hung in the air and Yurin couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Hours passed until finally, from the high crow’s nest a voice called down.

Raveres needed no translation and her eyes lit up as a wry smile came across her lips, even though the man spoke Arabyan to her it truly sounded like Druhir and she heard, _‘Land-ho’_ as clear as day.

The awkwardness and tension turned into anticipation and reserved excitement and Raveres moved as if she wasn’t injured at all, her sudden leaving of the rail and throwing of the bottle into the sea made Yurin jump to keep up with her.

Climbing the helm she began speaking to Dahi and he stared at her intensely, bowing to her command and imposing visage.

Prince Balik was passed out against the rail at the back corner of the quarterdeck, a blanket drawn over him in a rather welcome comical sight.

“Yurin, I shall lead the boat ashore, you, and only the strongest men shall accompany.”

He nodded and repeated the words to the acting captain.

“I will tolerate neither insubordination nor any thievery.”

Dahi nodded and gulped at the words after they were rendered into Arabyan. Subconsciously he was feared at anything she was to do if her commands were not heeded.

One of Balik’s retainers woke him and hastily explained what was happening.

His face lit up and he smiled as he looked at Raveres and was helped to his feet.

Nodding her head in reserved acknowledgement the Druchii continued, “Tell them that I shall amply reward them, better than Sadalsuud would.”

Men began to crowd at the stairs and listen.

Raveres turned and acknowledged them as she raised her voice, now addressing the ship.

Yurin followed suit while repeating her words.

“Whatever lies within this trove is mine by rights, yet each man shall receive this Druchii’s word that I shall reward you all.”

Raveres’ lips smirked.

“Gold and glory!” she cried.

Yurin repeated the exclamation and the crew happily repeated it, their earlier apprehension and discomfort now gone.

…

The small island chain grew closer and closer, yet in the back of Raveres’ mind she became more apprehensive.

‘What if the waves have claimed it?’

The largest of the islands was the one indicated on the pirate’s chart, and now, looking at it off its coast it resembled like the worn and broken remnants of a volcanic mountain. Once mighty and imposing, now a ruin and eroded by the menace of the years.

‘Naggaryth…’ Raveres thought.

With a shudder she remembered the esteemed stories she was raised on of their enchanted and lost homeland.

It too was torn asunder and claimed by the seas, but unlike this small archipelago it was still somewhat occupied.

She grit her teeth in a learned reflex as she remembered her father speaking about the ‘Shadow King’; Alith Anar and of his Naggarythi. Years of lectures came back in a flurry as she heard her father’s voice describe the splendour and beauty that was once the Druchii cradle…

‘It is now ruled as a ruin by those _usurpers_ …’ he had said.

Yet a twinge of doubt followed these memories, and she thought ‘It was so long ago it’s almost as if it never had happened…’ Raveres’ courage grew as she dared to think; ‘You weren’t even born yet father… Centuries keep _even us_ parted from that place… and centuries more I should expect…’

She shook her head and tried to steady herself, somewhat uneasy at her own seditious and nearly _sinful_ thoughts.

It was well known that to bring up anything negative about the sundering, the loss and exile of the Druchii; it was sure to draw the ire of someone within earshot… The likelihood being they had _actually_ been there.

‘But…’ Raveres thought.

‘How much time had passed since her people’s exile?’ Her father was over two hundred years old… Maybe even three, and how old was her mother? The sundering was several millennia before that.

‘Barring very few famous Druchii, there were probably not many first generation members of Malekith’s followers left.’

She cringed and held her side as a wave of nausea and a headache came over her.

‘Gah, tediousness without end!’ she complained.

Looking to her side at Yurin she couldn’t help but smirk, ‘Probably right up his line of interest I suspect.’

The retainer saw her glance at him out of the corner of his eye and perked up, asking; “My lady?”

She pointed forwards at the islands, “Mathlann has not taken it… yet. It will be fine… it will all be fine.”

Yurin nodded and offered, “Dahi says that there’s a perfect shoal to anchor in, just at that landing there.”

He stepped closer and in the low light pointed towards a finger of land stretching out to the left of the broad sandbar ahead.

She nodded.

“Make the longboats ready. I do not wish to spend any more time than necessary here.”

“Understood my lady”

…

As the Arabyans lowered the dhow’s larger longboat into the water off the side of their vessel Raveres strode to the edge of the ship and the men bowed their heads as she passed.

Their deference gave her pause and when she turned to her right the first man bowed his head even lower.

She smirked and enjoyed the confidence that their attitude gave her. Looking ahead she saw that the island’s shore was dotted with large rocks amid strangely dark coloured sand.

‘Those may make re-embarking a hassle… especially with the chests so laden with plunder…’

As the boat descended to the calm waters the men began rowing them ashore, finally coming so close to the trove Raveres’ avarice began to swell and her elvish eyes began to glimmer.

Nearing the coast a few of the men leapt out of the boat and helped guide it up onto the island.

It smelt like rotten fish, and the circling seagulls did not stand as an encouraging omen.

But Raveres rolled her shoulders and grunted as she stepped over the side of the boat and onto dry land.

The men who’d been selected to accompany her watched as she lowered herself and extended her hand into the sand.

Taking up a handful of wet grains she squeezed it and roared, “I have claimed this island! Let us now claim my riches!”

Yurin translated and the crew laughed and cheered as Raveres stomped up the beach and towards a well-trod path.

The only plant life on the archipelago was some sparse tropical shrubs and a thick grass which grew where there was enough soil under the sand.

The small path led them across the spine of the small island towards the large ‘mountain’ which made up its centre.

Protruding out of the rock face was a rough-hewn entrance.

Raveres began breathing shallowly and smiling as she stepped towards the small cave.

“Yurin…”

He nodded, “I haven’t any idea of what to expect, but any chests with this symbol upon it are from my ship.”

She pulled her amulet of Khaine into view.

The retainer nodded.

Waving the crew behind her along Raveres led the way and they entered the chamber.

As soon as her eyes adjusted to the low ambient light of the morning filtering into the cave

It looked like rows of coffins stacked on one another.

She saw the elvish chests her former crew, under Dorath’s orders, carved Khaine’s sigil into marking them as now theirs. But among these taken from her ship she saw it.

And she couldn’t help from smiling. This smile and her eyes widened when her gaze met the most familiar container out of all of them.

Stepping down into the depression of the cave’s hoard she stepped past the pirate crates, ignoring them as she pressed on towards the thick black-oak, iron barded, Druchii chest.

Its lid was embossed with her family’s crest and its lock was missing.

‘Just as I left it…’ she scoffed in disbelief, excitement flooding her veins that her effects had survived the sinking of the _Witches Wail_.

“Though” she commented lowly, “Only if they were stowed away”

She sneered, “I’m sure that whore made off with anything of value…”

The men stood at the entrance to the cave, quietly speaking amongst one another as Yurin corralled them and told them to wait.

Reaching her good hand towards the lid Raveres paused for a moment before opening the chest.

Her heart thundered and she felt hope nagging at the back of her mind.

Lifting the heavy wooden lid up she beamed an eager smile at the sight of the rest of her armour. Though it had been gone through and obviously ransacked, her letters, a few of her smaller boxes, and most importantly, for the moment, her castle-forged plate remained.

Tucked at the side of the chest, under the loose parchment and empty comb box, the familiar black and silver of the Naguii armour looked up at her.

Moving the parchment, scrolls, and empty boxes out of the way revealed her left gauntlet, vambraces, pauldrons, cuisse, and greaves. They were untied of their corresponding halves but each piece seemed to be there, she smiled and thought of her armourer back home, ‘Gods bless you Riccard… You big Norscan fuck’

Slamming the chest closed she pointed down to it, and spoke, “This one first! Get it away and to my cabin!”

Stepping away from her trunk she came beside one of the elvish chests.

Yurin nodded and relayed her orders and two men stepped forwards and came into the cave stepping past the pirate’s trove towards her chest.

Raveres raised her right leg and took aim before kicking the lid of the stolen elvish container open. She let out a low howl at the appearance of glittering coins and bullion.

The treasure looked up at her with its unmarred allure.

She took a handful and raised it in view of the men.

They all began ravenously jeering and laughing.

Throwing the coins at the men they let loose a torrent of cheering as they caught and dropped to the floor to collect the fallen treasure.

“Yurin, get as many as will fit into the longboat!”

The retainer looked at the depth of the chest with wide eyes and an open mouth. Calculating the amount of the whole trove, his face paled.

Ripping his eyes away from the chests he stared at Raveres.

She had just become the richest creature he’d ever met.

The sheer material wealth that was contained in the elvish chests would have put her at the same level as Emir Hashan or Sadalsuud, but along with the rest?

“M-my lady…”

She stepped nearer another chest and opened it with a kick.

“What is it Yurin?”

He shook his head as the men lifted her personal chest out and passed their waiting fellows.

The men eagerly compared coins and felt their weights, laughing excitedly and distracted by their pay.

The retainer stepped closer to her and lowered his voice, even though they were speaking Druhir.

“W-we can’t trust… I mean… you cannot trust these men’s loyalty! Th-this is neigh unbelievable!”

She furrowed her brow before smirking.

“You worry unnecessarily Yurin.”

He opened his mouth and shook, perplexed.

“My lady, forgive me, but I think I worry _just the right amount!_ ”

With an evil smile Raveres raised a brow, “How many crew do we have here and aboard the ship?”

Furrowing his brow Yurin paused before answering, his voice low, “Nearly thirty… fewer if we don’t count Prince Balik.”

“How much do you think I would have to promise to buy the loyalty of these men?”

Yurin balked and stood still, open mouthed as he tried to think.

“Let’s say one full chest?”

Yurin looked at the trove and began counting.

‘Three… six… nine, twelve!’ he blinked and brought his hand to rub his cheek.

“T-they can count too my lady!”

She looked past Yurin and pointed to the chests, non-verbally indicating the men were to begin lifting them.

The men began a train, carrying three chests after the first one of her personal effects.

Stepping back towards the entrance Raveres bowed out and down the path back to the boat as Yurin followed.

“We shall fill the boat and then row back to the ship. I imagine five maybe six chests shall fit.” She paused and added, “Tell them.”

The retainer nodded and translated the message.

Nodding Raveres resumed her walking, her cloak flowing behind her eerily as she began cackling.

The laugh grew in volume and she began howling as she came to the shore and saw the first two men loading her chest aboard the longboat.

The reality of it all came to roost and she bore her expression plainly, no longer hiding her plain excitement and happiness.

Raveres and Yurin rowed ashore with eight men.

The rowboat could have held more, but the Druchii had erred on the side of caution.

As the men followed them towards the boat with their cargo they began hefting the plunder-laden crates aboard the small boat.

It groaned under the weight and Raveres raised a brow, “We’ve too many men Yurin.”

He nodded as he visualised just how full the ship would be.

“We’ll have to do two trips…” he agreed.

She shook her head and stepped forwards, “No… One trip shall suffice.”

The retainer furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to respond when she interrupted him, “I shall tell you my tentative plan Yurin. As you are the only one who speaks my tongue, and,” she laughed, “since you are bound to me by oath you are as good a confidant as I should want.”

He shut his mouth and nodded as the men laughed and directed one another.

“I will take only these few chests. With them I shall pay Sadalsuud and establish my original mission. With what else remains from my agreement with the merchant I seek to purchase the fleetest ship in the harbour as well as only the barest number of slaves for crew.”

He nodded along.

“I need to be rid of that prince… and these men, you are correct, they cannot be trusted.”

She brought a hand to her chin as she thought aloud, “I’d sooner have them all carrion than let them go knowing what lies on this island… Despite their faux worship of me,”

Yurin’s eyes widened in disbelief as Raveres let out a sigh admitting, “My greed has made me too hasty.”

Then she furrowed her brow and growled, “And now I am to race against the sands of time in this regard…”

She pursed her lips and the retainer remained motionless as she thought.

She nodded once to herself and turned around to the men.

Raveres motioned one of the men towards her and he smiled widely before bowing his head and approaching.

With a swift crash of her right hand to his face she surprised him with a strike and then kicked him over.

The scruffy man fell to the sand, yelping in surprise as Raveres drew her sword, and brought it to his neck, so fast that none of the men had realised yet what had happened.

They jumped forwards off the boat dropping chests and reaching for their own hilts.

Maintaining her blade on the man’s chest she loudly declared, “Yurin, tell them I need one of their number’s blood.”

She tilted her head to the side as the men looked at her with confusion, betrayal, and anger.

“If any of them wish to take his place I will gladly let them do so.”

Yurin stuttered as he translated.

The men looked at one another before staring at their fellow on the ground.

He coughed and screamed to them for aid, but they paused and stared uneasily at Raveres.

“None noble among you I see?”

She pushed the tip of her blade into his neck, plain faced.

“No matter”

He screamed and struggled as the steel cut through his flesh and he sputtered before groaning and gurgling on his own blood.

Staring back at the men she made an unflinching display of her resolve.

The man twitched and when he finally stopped moving she withdrew her blade from his neck.

She flicked the blood off her sword and stepped forwards, straightening her back and taking a calm breath.

The men looked at their fallen comrade, then her, and then each other.

_Greed_

‘More commanding than pain to some…’ She thought with a smirk.

The men who had earlier just been laughing and smacking one another triumphantly, now stood quietly, watching their new lord with reserved and gloomy expressions.

…

After throwing their comrade’s body into the water they looked at Raveres with fear and dread in their features.

Yurin quietly followed along as she told them to grab two more chests.

When the longboat was loaded they began rowing the heavy, creaking, vessel back towards the ship.

The seagulls overhead circled around the body and she eyed them with disdain as she thought, ‘I told Mathlann that I’d give him his due…’

She smirked privately, and sat atop one of the chests. ‘Bear me swiftly to my goal and I shall sing your praises again.’ Yurin sat below her at the fore of the small boat, his features were pursed and his expression uneasy as he drew in uneven breaths.

When they returned aboard the dhow Raveres let out a sigh of satisfaction and began speaking for Yurin to translate, she made it plain she had killed one of them on the island, and warned that she’d not hesitate to do the same, or have the same done to any others who may have designs upon her fortune.

Suffice it to say the men looked at the Druchii, awash with fear and dismay, their heroine had shown them something which made them all pause, now they didn’t know how to view her…

“We’ll load the chests and leave them here on the deck. When the last is aboard I shall give the crew their due.”

Dahi and Samahd eyed Raveres, unable to think of what they could do in retaliation.

They were chosen to serve under Asada specifically because they had no courage to challenge him.

Yet Asada was physically imposing and had well known history of breaking men in battle, he never had to slice a man open in front of them to prove he could do it…

Raveres however, disregarded Sir Jean’s earlier lesson about leading gently.

‘Perhaps in a different place and with different stakes,’ She thought, ‘but I will take no chances here old man. These men are but _rats_ and for now they are only necessary so long as they keep still of thieving.’

So the two men, official representatives of the Emir, who, by rights, should have taken command nonverbally ceded nearly all authority to Raveres.

“Yurin, ensure those men receive what I promised.”

He nodded as she indicated the men who’d come with them to the island.

“And tell Dahi and Samahd to deal out the pay to the crew, with a bonus.”

She stepped towards the stairs below and waved Prince Balik to follow.

“Is that wise my lady?”

“Those men would sooner piss themselves than cross me.” She turned and raised a brow, “Tell them and then follow me below, I must speak with the prince.”

…

Home in Naggaroth, Raykar Kalinside limped along the hall of his villa, muttering to himself before he stopped at a great, tall, window. A flash of movement was thundering along the heath it caught his eye.

He furrowed his brow and pointed one of his gnarled, long nailed, fingers towards several riders.

They bore his colours yet an odd number of the men struck out to him; instead of his familiar heraldry they were instead bearing the purple and white of the Naguii.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” he rumbled.

His retainer guards shook their heads mutely.

“Help me down the stair!” he ordered with a grunt.

His lead bodyguard took the old man’s withered arm and assisted him down the wide black marble staircase to the foyer of his home.

The guards behind him stepped forwards and opened the thick doors. With ragged breaths the lord of the manor stepped out into the Naggaroth afternoon as the riders approached the gate to his courtyard.

The horses had been ridden so hard that foam and spittle drooled from their mouths and he could hear them panting for air even from the steps of his door.

The lead rider dismounted and approached the barred gate.

He held out his hand and cried, “My lord! Please I must speak with you!”

Raykar furrowed his brow in disgust, ‘far too much activity in too short an amount of time!’

“About _What?!_ ” he roared.

The man was panting as he responded, “Your son’s been attacked!”

Raykar’s features contorted as he processed the news.

He stepped forwards and waved at the guards at the gate, “Open them you fools! What news rider! Why are those Naguii dogs with you?”

The rider nodded and stepped through the gate, clearing his throat and bowing to his noble master.

“Jaylish, he and his retainers were attacked… A feud started in the city… Apparently the work of some Forgebound cousins… The Naguii,” he pointed to the riders and nodded again, “Jaylish took refuge in the Naguii villa within Blacklight.”

He shook his head, “The city’s streets run red my lord, as they did in generations past. The peace is over…”

Raykar’s eyes darted from man to man as he thought, and mumbled, “Refuge among the Naguii? Damn that Titos… oh this is just too good for him at now isn’t it… _closer ties_ my balls!”

The guard watched his master uneasily, interjecting, “Jaylish was always fond of that Naguii daughter…”

The Naguii guardsmen furrowed their brows and grunted at the remark, tentatively threatening that the reference ought to stay at that.

Raykar looked at the men and saw the soot on their plate, the scrapes and flecks of blood dried to their leather and armour.

“That’s true…” he mumbled before turning back to his guardsman, “What of my son… why did you leave him in the city?” his voice rose with anger as he looked at the men.

“We were not with him at the time my lord. We were watching over the dockyard warehouse,”

Raykar shook his head as he took stock and thought, ‘What in Malekith’s name is going on?!’

“How do you know of any of this?! I demand better explanation!”

One of the Naguii riders removed his plumed helm and bowed his head at the neck before speaking, “Lord Raykar Kalinside.”

The elder Druchii eyed the man with unease.

“I was bid by my lord and master to meet with these men and bring them back to you.”

He reached into his saddle bag and produced a piece of parchment, its wax seal was broken from previous openings and rough reading, “Your son draughted this and before I was sent out by my own lord. I was told not only to show it to your men, but also to bear it to you yourself.”

The man’s lyrical voice and eloquent delivery grated on the alcoholic. But when he was finished his explanation he leaned down and extended the letter to Raykar.

The old general spat to his side and complained, “Another cunting letter?”

He took the small message and looked at the seal; it was his house’s crest and the letters’ penmanship appeared to be his son’s, yet Raykar couldn’t help but feel that something was amiss.

…

“I’m curious as to how your father will believe all this…” Titos responded.

Jaylish had laid out a seemingly intricate plan of deception, and though Titos listened along and nodded with interest at the juiciest parts… he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of distrust and apprehension at the boy’s tone, _as well as his price._

“Don’t worry about what he will believe or not, the point is that it will interest him. The addition of my men at the docks to yours delivering the message will give him pause, and he’ll certainly think something wicked is afoot against him.”

“And then he’ll search for these elements?”

The sailor-noble nodded and leaned back in his seat, adding, “He’ll live to sniff them out; he won’t be able to help himself in his pursuit. At every falsehood he discovers he’ll only become more frenzied and consumed by it.”

Titos exhaled and sipped at his wine, “Unless he finds out the truth. With your men and mine we can produce a faux battle, and the appearance of a feud. But a deception with multiple players at one another’s throats?” he shook his head, “A riot in the city will look like a riot; we cannot make a ruse of familial warring.”

Jaylish pursed his lips; he was unused to his schemes being confronted with resistance.

“And what if he does indeed find our…” Titos smirked and corrected himself, “ _my_ foe, how is he going to give this information over freely?”

Jaylish rubbed his chin and looked away as he sniggered, “You think all my father’s men are loyal to him?”

Titos, sensing the revelation of a secret raised a brow and acted along, coaxing the boy into a boast.

“I read most all of his spy’s reports before they ever reach him, or at the least I receive a copy.”

He smirked, “A tongue, in the right place… The right words, the right leverage…”

Steeping in his joke and feeling quite arrogant with himself he relished that he was finally telling secrets to someone who’d appreciate them. Yet despite this Titos was wholly unimpressed with his plotting ally.

“And I’m to understand that you’re willing to risk even yourself for your plan? It seems a folly.”

Jaylish coughed and his face changed; he was far less pleased with himself and he avoided Lord Titos’ eyes as he spoke.

“My lord, I have over ten trueborn siblings that I know about, with a score of bastards to contend with as well. I have not once received my due. He is a drunk and lecher.”

Titos drew a breath, “Yet the timing of this all? I fear that only my plan can proceed successfully. And,” he smirked, “without unnecessary selling of my blood.”

Jaylish hid his disappointment.

“I’ve known of your affection for Raveres but,” Titos rose and nodded to Riccard.

“I never thought you were so intent.”

The Northman stepped aside and Titos was about to leave the room when Jaylish stood abruptly and drew his dagger.

“My lord!”

Titos turned and raised a brow,

Jaylish wrapped his left hand around the blade of his weapon and drew it through his fingers with his right.

The young raver winced and his hand immediately began to drip crimson.

“My father cares more for the insult of holding me than he does my life… Unless we do it my way he _will_ make war upon you.”

Jaylish brought the dagger to his cheek and drew it across his own face.

Titos furrowed his brow and watched on.

Wincing and grimacing Jaylish aimed the dagger to the side of his abdomen and drove it into himself, letting out a cry of pain he stumbled back and nearly fell as he regarded the dagger he’d drawn under his armour and into his own body, beginning to breathe heavily he let out a chuckle of disbelief that he’d actually done it.

“But…” he looked up at Titos, an evil smile across his now blood smeared features, “If you _murdered_ his son… Well.”

He exhaled and lowered back into his chair.

Titos stepped towards the now injured man and looked down on him with surprise. His voice was utterly genuine as he spoke, “Jaylish Kalinside… I cannot believe that it was you who forced my hand.”

Groaning and steadying himself on the couch, the man smirked and his breath fell unevenly as he held out his right hand, “I’ll need parchment and an apothecary… I need to be able to write a convincing letter for this to work my lord.”

Walking towards his desk and fetching a blank piece of letter stationary he remarked, ‘The boy’s a more treacherous snake than I had imagined… And he has less sense than he does brash impulse.’ He privately smirked, ‘What a combination…’

Bringing pen and paper to the bleeding noble Titos hid his resolve, ‘But he’s a fool to think that I’ll actually allow his stupidity to earn marriage to my daughter.’

Though he and Lady Naguii had only planned to use the Kalinsides as was necessary and dispose only of those who needed to be silenced. It was clear to Lord Titos that young Jaylish would need to go.

He grumbled at the thought that they would have to make a far more elaborate scheme to deal with Raykar once their shadowy enemy was discovered…

‘By the Dark Mother my love…’ he complained.

Watching Jaylish write and begin to feel the pain of the blade still within him Titos let out a small laugh as he imagined his wife’s voice,

“Or we could just kill them and make friends of what’s left?”

Nodding to himself he replied, ‘We could indeed my love… We could indeed.’

…

“Balik says that he’ll help you.” Yurin said somewhat wearily.

She grinned widely and bowed her head.

“Excellent.”

The prince turned to his last living retainer and spoke with him.

They were in the captain’s cabin and Raveres looked over Annio’s chart, studying and committing it’s latitudes to memory. _Just in case_. She thought with a grimace.

When she had finished scrutinising the paper she pointed at it and rose away from the table saying, “Yurin, roll this up and defend it with your life.”

The young man gulped and nodded before complying.

Politely nodding her head to the prince, Raveres stepped out of the room, she’d ensured the security of the cargo aboard the ship as well as made promises to Prince Balik she’d be an ally for him having ‘saved’ her after the battle.

Stepping into her cabin she closed her door and looked down happily at her returned personal trunk.

Opening its lid she re-read one of her parent’s letters and nodded.

Resolution burned in her chest more than the pain of her wounds and she threw off the white cloak.

Pushing the refuse within her lightened chest aside she began taking out the pieces of her full set of armour.

Riccard had neglected sabatons when he was packing, as well as a helm, but everything else, coupled with her cuirass and right gauntlet was more than enough.

‘Ample material…’ she agreed with herself.

With only her right hand being functional Raveres sat on the floor of her cabin and cleaned her armour, ritualistically.

A smirk grew across her features she began whistling a tune, focusing only on what was to come.

‘Sadalsuud…’ she nearly hissed, ‘I wonder what designs he had’

She nodded, “A great test is ahead”

Her heart fluttered, ‘What if he reneges?” Snarling Raveres shook her head and the fear was dispelled, _“He will not… shut up you little girl._ ”

‘Kill the girl,’ She thought, ‘with the death of that man on the beach… killing Annio, those crewmen? This is it… No longer am I to look back.’

“Raveres, the stupid maid, is well and truly dead.”

She sniggered and looked at her ruined hand, the pain of her ripped nails burned with a sudden intensity and she dropped her greave to the floor.

“If that bastard dares to rebuke me?” she laughed slowly, “I’m sure a replacement could be found…”

The excitement, the sheer magnitude of her victory couldn’t be ignored and her chuckle rose in volume until it became a deep, satisfied, laugh. She shut her eyes and threw her hands above her head before falling backwards to the wood of the floor.

Laying back she whispered amidst her growing laughter, “I did it? I did it! I truly have the gods on my side… _I did it!_ ”

She cackled and rolled from side to side; euphoric and now painless as she relished the total control and golden triumph she was the sole recipient of.

“I’ve just made my family the richest in all of Blacklight!” she scoffed and shivered, “I’m the richest Druchii outside of the Black Court!”

She shook her head from side to side, blinding herself with stray strands of her hair, as she continued to laugh, “And it’s _mine!_ ”

“I _won!”_ she shook her head, and arched her neck, “And no one, _no one!_ Not that prince, that Sadalsuud, those monks, the knight… none of them can bring me down in this moment.”

Several minutes passed before she calmed and her laughter sputtered out. A venomous surge of fraternal envy rose in her mouth and she hissed aloud, “Fuck Malith!”

“Raiding, and fighting those skin-stealers in the northern oceans… Oh ‘I’m the first born, I’ll sail the whole world to make my name!’”

She began to sour as memories of her eldest sibling came to roost.

So much older than her, she only had very vague memories of when he still lived in Blacklight.

Though she was so young at the time she did remember, vividly, how much she disliked her brother’s bride.

She snarled, his wife was just like him… ‘Her eyes… her hair, even her height! They could have easily been mistaken for twins.’

Raveres groaned in revulsion, ‘Perhaps that’s why they sought each other? They’re so obsessed with their own vanity no one else would have been worth of them but _themselves_.’

“Gah! Why’d I have to go and think about that?”

Moving her hair from off her brow she sat back up and looked down at her bandage covered torso.

“Fucking ruined the mood…”

The smell was irritating and she wanted it off her skin but she felt the itchy sensation of healing and repairing flesh.

“But, soon enough…” she commented.

With a strange eagerness she looked forwards to her return to Al Daouk, “First I must dress my plate…” she nodded sarcastically, “For I ought to look the part of a conqueror.”

Combing her hair with her fingers and closing her eyes Raveres centred herself and drew steady breaths as she ritualistically tied up her locks into a high ponytail.

Then slowly she went about fixing her armour to her body.

It’d been so long since she’d worn all of her plate…

‘Wait’ she thought, pausing before tightening her greave ‘I don’t think I’ve worn it all at once since leaving home.’

She smirked and shook her head, chuckling dryly.

“I shan’t lose you again…” she affirmed aloud. Finishing with her left leg she began with her right.

Having only one hand made everything a little more difficult than it should be, but she wanted to do it on her own… She _had_ to do it alone, so she could have the satisfaction of appearing in her dread splendour and seeing everyone’s face pale.

When her legs were encased and the armour tightly fit she stood and reached for her damaged cuirass. Though it was punctured it still looked the part and with the whole ensemble she’d give any of these men pause if they even dared to think about crossing her.

Lifting the chest armour around her body she cringed when it touched her wounds, letting out a sigh as she steeled herself and resolved to power through.

Fixing the two halves of the cuirass closed she drew on her vambraces, and then her gauntlets. Though her left hand was bandaged, and even lightly hitting it against something hurt, she had to give no indication of weakness.

_Pain…_ A reminder of life and one of her greatest motivators

Letting out a muffled groan she drew the gauntlet on her left hand until it was flush with the vambrace.

After a short while she was encased in her full plate. The last thing she pulled from her chest was a purple and white sash; her family’s colours.

Throwing it over her left shoulder she affixed its clasp to a small buckle on her cuirass and let it fall down her back.

The simple dressing of coloured cloth came to about the bottom of the cuirass and moved with each motion she made.

She nodded and drew in a deep breath.

“Now…” she exhaled and smirked sadistically, “ _my crew_.”

…

“Okay, you remember what the plan is right?” Sir Finise asked, his voice was uneasy, as he looked at the gruff and intimidating brigand.

The Arabyan said something to his fellows before answering in his heavily accented Bretonnian.

“Aye, we’ve done similar work iron man.”

Finise furrowed his brow, “Well… this’ll only work if your men are all going to be _professional_ about it.”

The large mercenary chuckled and took a swig of his ale, commenting and utterly changing the conversation as he said, “You know… you are the odd man out of your fellows.”

Sir Finise stood from his seat and looked towards the exit of the small tavern. The brigand offered a conciliatory tone and asked, “Have I offended you?” quickly.

The man offered a false smile, “My apologies Sir knight.”

“Enough of this…” Finise complained, taking a small leather pouch from his belt he dropped it to the table.

“There’s the middle third, as we agreed. The last of your payment shall be rendered upon competition of the overall mission.”

“Make noise, make a mess, but don’t get lost in the melee, we need that gate open for our horses.”

The man nodded, “Fear not iron one…”

He smacked his chest, “Haridah has never let a patron down!” he hefted his ale into the air and gave a battle cry, which was swiftly echoed by his men.

The staff of the tavern looked on with wry smiles at the mass of sweaty brawlers and drinking sell-swords.

Sir Finise nodded to Haridah and stepped towards the exit, throwing a coin onto the barmaid’s tray.

Stepping out of the building he turned towards the harbour to resume his vigil.

‘By the Lady this is folly…’ he complained.

Adjusting his belt he saw two fellow Bretonnians moving through a crowd as they walked down the street.

Widening his eyes Sir Finise turned around and sprinted back to the tavern’s door. “I have to tell Tormande!”

The building was, on the one half, a tavern and the other, a flesh-house.

Finise leapt past the carousing mercenaries, much to their jeering entertainment, and made for the thick doorway which parted the loud and boisterous drinking hall from the more subdued den of prostitution.

“Sir Tormande!” he cried.

The matron furrowed her brow and stood from her small desk in the corner of the room, “Get that drunk out of here!” she roared.

Two eunuch guards nodded their bald heads and set towards the intruder. Dodging through the men’s grasp Sir Finise sprinted up the stairs of the room causing girls and women to dart out of his way, and recently satisfied customers to yell out in surprise as he nearly pushed them.

“Gah! Sir Tormande!”

He began banging on the first portal in the upper hall and then started leaping from door to door, trying to locate his superior.

“They’re returned! The knight and the boy!”

One of the doors he’d just banged on opened and the grizzled features of Tormande Gilayne came into view.

Furrowing his brow he at first appeared angry, but then Finise repeated himself and the black knight’s features grew into a perverse smile.

“Get Cratoun! I’ll be ready in a moment.”

Finise nodded and then darted back down the hall as the eunuch guardsmen and on looking patrons furrowed their brows and spoke one another in confusion.

Slapping his whore across her breasts Tormande pointed to his discarded armour, “Play at my squire woman…”

She raised a brow and moved to better look at her lover.

“Ask me nicely.” She responded coyly.

Tormande opened his mouth and pressed his tongue to his molars as he let out a breath and shook his head.

“Now is not the time woman. Dress me.”

Her playful attitude melted as she furrowed her brow, Tormande was always a rough man… but he’d never looked at her as he just had. But she knew _she did not like it_.

She wanted to spit at his voice.

Pointing to her boudoir she spitefully responded as she rose from the bed, “Time’s up Tormande. _Dress yourself_.”

Flicking her fingers in his direction he seethed at the non-verbal insult, but shook his head and descended to begin putting his trousers on.

He hadn’t the time to redress her boldness.

She stepped towards the edge of the room and disappeared from view behind a dressing screen.

‘The knight and the boy…’ he thought happily, ‘and so soon too…’

Despite his lover’s insolence the prospect of getting the knight and squire now was too good to pass up, dressing with a sadistic smile across his stubble-covered face Tormande nearly shivered in excitement.

…

Author’s afterword:

Good evening boils and ghouls,

I hope you’ve been enjoying my story so far and I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for your support. I don’t like long winded or superfluous commentaries but I would like to respond to the anons as well as the non-profiles/guests who have been leaving comments since the beginning.

I read every comment and I try to respond to each if I can.

But thank you, consider this my official mid-concert finger point to you. Yes, _you_.

Thank you for reading so faithfully every week.

It means a lot to me.

As always, lots of love,

VV


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Summary: Sir Jean faces a foe, Raveres makes port, and Lord Titos feels the ice of doubt

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Eighteen

Stepping from her cabin Raveres pursed her lips and kept down a groan of pain.

She’d brushed her gauntlet’d left hand against the wall, and even though it was encased in the steel, the ruined tips of the fingers throbbed with heat at the surprising and sudden jostle.

A crewman stood at the base of the stairs holding a length of fresh rope he’d no doubt retrieved from storage, he had a calm worker’s expression, until his eyes beheld her.

His lively face widened in mute terror at the sight of Raveres as she approached.

She raised a brow and quickly put on a haughty expression, hiding her smile of satisfaction as she thought, ‘Perfect’

The man stepped aside as she stepped closer down the cramped hall and continued blinking in disbelief.

His face seemed to say; ‘It’s not possible’

At first Raveres thought about what he could possibly be doubting, but then she realised, and felt herself a fool for having overlooked such a detail…

Obviously the speed with which she had returned to her feet and now appeared to be in fighting form had given him pause.

His hands let go of the cable of rope and it fell to the wooden floor with a thud. He continued to gawk at her in somewhat of a strange worship.

She raised an eyebrow; fear was what she had hoped… Yet the sigils which had been carved on her door, and now this man’s expression, it resulted in a strange and uncomfortable feeling in her chest.

Stopping at the base of the stair Raveres decided to test something.

Pointing her right index finger to the floor she spoke one word; _“Kneel”_

The man’s mouth opened and he quivered before following her arm’s direction and immediately falling to his knees.

Pressing his forehead to the floor he prostrated himself before her and Raveres was instantly taken aback.

Though he didn’t understand her word, he still followed her command.

She swallowed and looked upon the groveling human, somewhat doubtful of the reality of his adoration. Shaking her head she drew in a shallow breath before stepping past him.

Climbing the stair, and forcing herself to begin breathing deeply, Raveres pensively allowed herself relief and momentary enjoyment of the salty air.

Coming to the deck she smirked to herself, hoping to hear the audible surprise of the crewmen at her appearance and dread armour. She’d hoped for fear as opposed to the idolisation she was beginning to suspect would await her.

Yet she couldn’t help but contort her lips in disappointment when she at first saw that there were no men to greet her, and that she was neither dreaded nor adored.

Furrowing her brow she looked to the port side of the ship and saw that the whole crew had abandoned their posts.

The disappointment at their lack of reaction, as well as their huddling along the rail made her boil momentarily and she was about to call to Yurin when she saw past the men and beheld the darkness soaring into the sky.

Her words caught in her throat and her eyes followed the smoke, higher and higher into the air.

Black and grey clouds were beginning to form far above them, and the cause of such a turn was a thick pillar of smoke.

Her face dropped in surprise and her lips parted as she beheld the darkness ahead of the port.

She stepped towards the rail and easily pushed a few crewmen aside for a clearer view, no longer concerned with her own appearance or the issues of keeping the crew under her thrall.

Raveres had a far more pressing and rage inducing concern now;

Al Daouk was aflame.

Echoing across the water was the dull sound of bells, chiming madly as the harbour filled with boats, ships, and activity.

There were crowds of people pouring out of the gates, and on either side of the delta she saw that the city appeared also under attack, or perhaps raiding. Either way she was left confused as to what in the gods’ name had transpired since putting to earlier.

At once the men aboard the ship seemed to finally realise her presence, Prince Balik, Yurin, Samahd and Dahi as well as the crewmen looked at her.

Furrowing her brow and taking a quiet, calm, breath she steeled herself.

Dahi and Samahd were pale and completely overwhelmed by the sight of their home alight.

The crewmen were looking to her with desperation, hoping for her to snatch another victory.

But their faces… were indescribable…

The defeat of the chaos spawned kraken seemed to finally roost in her mind and she realised that the men around her were pawns…

Yet, they had been swayed… and they were her pawns. Despite her alien nature, her brutal attitude, they were each looking to her for some kind of assurance.

She looked from man to man quickly, taking stock.

Prince Balik narrowed his features tensely.

Yurin gulped and nodded expectantly to his master.

And Raveres thought about her treasure, her plots, her desires…

The city ahead was aflame, her mission with Sadalsuud at risk… But she had a nagging thought whisper into her attention. She was now rich…

‘Surely we could sail away… Make it back to the island? Retrieve it all and return to Naggaroth.’

She could be rid of these humans and see her Hakseer completed.

‘But the logistics of it all!’ she thought.

Her mind raced and she plotted so many different things and remained silent before looking back at the burning city.

Yurin looked to the men and they began whispering among one another hesitantly.

“M-my lady?” the retainer stuttered.

She growled and faced her translator, an anger burning in her chest.

Raveres had reluctantly made her decision, “Yurin! Tell the men to ready themselves, we’ll make it ashore in the longboat and find out what’s bloody well gone on.”

She growled and balled her sword hand into a fist before exclaiming and stomping towards the quarter deck, “Gods damn it all!”

“Arm the men and once we are away the ship is to weigh anchor. If I see them sailing away I will slaughter their families.”

Yurin’s face contorted and he hesitated as he conveyed her words more… peacefully.

Prince Balik followed after Raveres and Yurin translated as he spoke to her.

“The Prince says that’d we’d be better off to sail away to a more friendly birth!”

She looked over her shoulder with a raised brow, ‘Naturally he’d suggest such a thing… I’m sure he thinks me a friend now…’

She shook her head, “Tell the Prince that I shall not run. Sadalsuud owes me and I shall see my gods’ damn mission finished!”

The prince furrowed his brow and bit his tongue, but appeared compliant to her words.

She turned and exhaled steadily, ‘Diplomatic Raveres… _diplomatic…’_

“Yurin, tell Prince Balik… That I shall not forget our own arrangement, I will assist him.”

The translator repeated the message and the Prince’s features lightened as he looked back at her, offering a slight bow of the head.

She returned the curtesy and continued; her voice now a measure calmer and more even-toned. “He must appreciate that things are in order of precedence… I can ill afford an enemy of Sadalsuud for the time being. Add whatever you must to smooth this Yurin.”

The young man nodded and eloquently attached niceties to her words.

Raveres watched, keeping her interest hidden as Yurin continued to talk.

The translator occasionally yelled to the other men of the crew and they exclaimed in response.

Yurin’s face was red with excitement but he maintained a stern expression before turning back to the Prince.

Balik looked to several other men as well as his own retainer before he nodded, his lips pursed in approval. Then he looked back to Raveres and bowed his head at the neck.

The Druchii was doing all she could not to allow her surprise to come through onto her features as Yurin repeated the prince’s words,

“You have our swords dread lady.”

She smirked and nodded appreciatively.

“Yurin?” She asked lowly, “What in Khaine’s name did you just say there in your little speech?”

The translator stepped beside her and responded lowly, “That you and I were in private consultation earlier and that with this calamity now before us…” he chuckled dryly and cleared his throat, “well… my lady, put simply I just secured their loyalty for the time coming. I’ll admit I may have gotten a bit carried away.”

Raveres tightened her jaw, and repeated herself, “What did you say?”

…

They were rounding the corner of a street, just a few yards from the Bretonnian embassy when people started to run around them.

It was at first distantly yelled, but now was becoming clearer and more near as people began repeating in chorus, “Fire!”

Sir Jean and Jacque looked at one another as it became yelled louder and louder. The people around them maddeningly echoing the warning cry of: _fire._

Jacque clutched at his master’s equipment under his arm and furrowed his brow in confusion and in surprise.

The people ebbed around them as they streamed back down the street.

As their numbers trickled away and the tide parted Sir Jean squinted as he and Jacque came face to face with three armoured and armed men.

He knew them at once and his breath stopped in his mouth as his pain faded away momentarily.

The three false knights…

Jacque’s mouth opened and his brow dropped as he too recognised the men.

Brandishing their swords Sir Tormande, Sir Cratoun, and Sir Finise stepped towards Sir Jean and Jacque.

A calm wave came over Jean and he straightened his back.

Though his chest was screaming for release from the pain of his strained muscles and cracked and broken ribs without a word he reached for and wrapped his hand around his sword, drawing it from the sheath on Jacque’s back.

“Run boy, and don’t look back.”

Jacque stood frozen as he turned from the men ahead to his master.

Sir Jean’s lip twitched as he withheld everything in him, “Go my boy.”

Jacque let go of his master’s armour and let it fall from over his shoulder before moving to draw his own sword, “Master I-“

Looking down at him Sir Jean raised his voice somewhat, “Run boy… If you were to listen to your father just this once, _do it_.”

His eyes crinkled and he pursed his lips, pleading for his squire to comply.

Jacque began tearing up as he let go of his sword and slowly stepped away.

Sir Jean looked towards his opponents; they began steadily coming closer, weapons poised.

“Run my boy…”

Sir Cratoun lunged first, through the slit in his visor his good eye burned with rage and a lust for battle.

With a grunt Sir Jean darted forwards to parry, “ _Run!”_

Jacque nodded, and began sprinting back down the street.

“Finise, after him!” Sir Tormande bellowed.

Sir Jean furrowed his brow and let loose a howl as he reposted Sir Cratoun, “No!”

With a well-placed blow Sir Jean cut underneath Cratoun’s left armpit.

Slashing through the material of Cratoun’s tunic the knight let out a cry of pain and staggered back, raising his sword to defend.

Bringing his sword away from Cratoun, Sir Jean threw an uncoordinated, desperate strike at the man seeking his squire.

Finise dodged Sir Jean’s slash and continued on down the street after Jacque.

Sir Tormande laughed and cut at Jean with a slash of his own.

The blow drew across Sir Jean’s left arm and left a deep cleave through his tunic and his bicep.

Grunting and hopping back from the wound Sir Jean parried Cratoun again while kicking at Tormande.

Like a call across water Sir Jean heard his name, yet strangely he didn’t feel distracted. Instead it was… warm? And it smelled like a memory…

He dropped low and let out a heavy cry as he brought his blade down on Tormande’s pauldron.

_My Lord and Ladies, I present the tournament champion! Sir Jean Le Tours!_

Sir Jean remembered kneeling as a garland of flowers was placed around his head, and the grace of the woman who laid it there.

“Fucking stab him Cratoun!” Tormande roared.

Parrying another of Sir Jean’s blows he was forced backwards and tried to give Cratoun an opening.

“I’m trying!” he responded.

Sir Jean smirked, they were younger than him, had armour, strength… ha, but they were cowards at heart.

Cratoun grunted and was huffing as he stepped forwards and tried to flourish with his blade.

Parrying, stepping forwards, and kneeing his opponent, Sir Jean skillfully battered Cratoun’s breastplate and drove the end of his pommel into the armour.

Winding Cratoun and then pushing on him with all his weight Sir Jean tripped the attacker before turning his attention back to Sir Tormande.

_Sir Jean! Drive the lance through the blasted orc!_

He leveled his weapon as he dug his spurs into his horses’ flank, _come now Michelle_ , he whispered; _Send the creature back to the abyss!_

His horse brought him along towards the war-boss, the hulking gore drenched maw stared back at him with a sly smile, could he time the attack right? What if he fell from the saddle? He grit his teeth and nearly blinked as he feinted the orc and successfully ran him through.

“Come on old man!” Sir Tormande roared.

Stepping forwards Sir Jean avoided another lethal strike and was able to deliver a token response. Clanging off of Tormande’s armour the strike annoyed more than it hindered and Tormande brought his armoured elbow up to bash into Jean’s face.

Staggering backwards and keeping his eyes open Sir Jean’s lip split and began leaking bright crimson blood.

_It’s just a flesh wound Jean… fear naught, ha! You won’t be losing the leg. You should have seen your face, ha ha!_

“Have at you! Foul knight!”

Parrying and slashing at one another Tormande drew his blade along Sir Jean’s left side.

Cutting a deep gash into his abdomen the elder knight cried out in pain before raising his left hand and punching Tormande in the helmet.

The ringing annoyed him and then Sir Jean gave a wide arcing slash to buy him some time and room.

Cratoun had gotten back to his feet and let out a wail as he sprinted back into the melee.

_Would you… I mean. Wait for me?_ Sir Jean had hesitantly asked her. The young maiden looked at her lover’s eyes and let a smile across her lips. _Of course I will, my love… my Jean._

Turning to intercept Cratoun Sir Jean poorly blocked his lunge, desperately holding at his bleeding side.

“Come on!” he yelled.

_I’m not one for dances…_

_Oh come on Jean! There’ll be lady’s maids, handmaidens, gods above it is like grabbing pigeons at nighttime!_

_Come on Jean, ask her for a dance!_

Tormande was about to bring down a heavy blow when Cratoun stepped into the way and he was forced to abandon his swing.

“Step aside!” the black knight roared.

Cratoun, distracted, presented a target and Sir Jean pursed his lips as he hefted and aimed his sword.

_My boy, this is a knightly helm._

_These holes here are for breathing, and this is your visor slit._

The boy looked over the helmet and nodded, _Can arrows go through there?_

Sir Jean nodded, _It is unlikely, but yes arrows, splinters, why even a sword if aimed properly._

With a guttural yell Sir Jean pushed forwards with all his might, driving the tip of his blade through the narrow slit of Cratoun’s helm.

The false knight let out a howl of such pain that it made Tormande step back and raise his brow in surprise.

Kicking into Cratoun’s chest Sir Jean withdrew his blade and was about to ready another blow. Leaping forwards as his fellow fell backwards; Tormande stole on the opportunity and barraged Jean with lunges and slashes.

_Do you swear to serve faithfully your lord, your people, the Lady, and the King?_

_I do._

Cutting broadly across Sir Jean’s chest he nearly dropped his sword from the pain and the surprise of the wound.

Stepping backwards he weakly attempted a riposte as Tormande roared and drove the attack home.

_I love you Jean._ He nodded and kissed her cheek as she handed him her handkerchief, her token. _I love you, my lady…_

Their steel clanged and wretched together horribly, and Sir Jean watched as Tormande’s blade grew closer to his chest, driving along his own blade like a road.

_He shall be your charge Sir Jean, teach him, lead him, and make him into a man. He is your first squire…_

_I will not fail you brother._

_How many squires of yours have been knighted?_

_I raised three boys into men of honour._

She cried and held his hand tightly, her grip was weak. _Then take care of my boy Jean… please, take care of my boy…_

_What is his name?_

_We named him Jacque._

The piercing tip of Tormande’s blade found its way between two of Jean’s unbroken ribs and entered his chest a few inches.

Crying out and moving backwards while still trying to keep up a defence Tormande yelled in triumph as Sir Jean grunted and growled in pain.

Withdrawing the sword from Jean’s chest Tormande brought it high above his head and let out a cry as he brought it down.

Sir Jean had fallen to his knees, holding at his chest with his left hand and raising his sword with the right to block.

_The man of the hour! Sir Jean!_

_I hear it was Jean who rallied our men and held fast the line?_

_Did he indeed? Praises be! You’re blessed by the lady sir knight!_

The sword passed through Sir Jean’s, breaking the steel with a metallic snap.

The broken length of sword uselessly fell to the cobble with a clanging chorus as Tormande’s blade cut through Sir Jean’s collarbone and shoulder, burying itself and stopping nearly five inches into his chest.

It hurt, but it also felt cold at the same time, he reeled from the impact and his face contorted as he tried to process the pain.

_I present Sir Jean… Your tournament champion!_

_Master, what would I need to shave for?_

_She’s bound? A wise move on your part Sir Jean…_

_Surely your race has a concept of life-debt?_

_Come now… to your feet milady…_

He coughed and sputtered as he looked away from Tormande’s face.

_I love you Jean…_

Her warm face seemed to come towards him from across the years. Her skin was unmarred by wrinkles; her smile was just as it was… Her eyes were alight to see him.

_Take care of the boy,_ she asked

He coughed dryly as his throat filled with blood, he blinked and responded to her as honestly and as raw as he could;

‘I tried…’

The vision faded and his eyes darkened as the pain melted away.

_Teach him to be good Jean…_

_Take care of the boy…_

_Take care…_

…

Tormande brought his foot up and grunted as he kicked Sir Jean over, withdrawing his blade from the dead knight’s chest.

Falling back and hitting the cobble street, Sir Jean’s hand let go of his broken sword and it clang loudly against the stone.

His eyes stared off down the street, aimlessly.

Blood began pouring out from his chest and his body seemed to be shivering.

But his face was blank, his broken lip already swollen, and his hair blowing in the light wind through the deserted street.

_Run boy…_

…

Panting and clapping his heels to the stone below Jacque darted around a street corner.

He was following the people who were also fleeing, and like the others… the confused people, covered in soot and grime, he was weeping. And he was weeping for the same reasons; he had lost his home, he had lost his family, and he had no idea what to do…

He didn’t feel knightly, he didn’t feel strong, and he didn’t feel like a man

He was a scared, orphan, boy, miles from anything familiar, and anything true.

The tears fell down his face in a torrent and he was beginning to cough and sputter as his breath fell away from him.

The smoke was starting to bellow upwards and the morning sky was darkened with whisping hands of black soot.

Behind him he heard the yelling and the shouting orders of the knight after him.

Daring a glance behind, Jacque shuddered and pushed himself forwards harder; the knight at his tail had since become flanked by three tall and brutal looking mercenaries.

‘Come on!’ he cried to himself, ‘keep running!’

The knight cried aloud over the deafening crowd, and Jacque heard him clearly say, “Grab the little bastard!”

Sir Finise pointed towards an alley as he and one of the men darted down it.

Arriving at a three way juncture, Jacque pushed his way through the crowd of people and tried to get his bearings.

He was close to the bazar but he’d unwittingly drawn himself farther towards the centre of the city… Nowhere near a gate!

‘Damn it…’ he shook his head, ‘I’ve got to keep moving… I just need to find somewhere… somewhere to…’

He shivered and let out a low shuddering groan as his mind screamed at himself,

_‘To hide?’_

He let out a low cry and shook his head again whispering, “Sir Jean is dead… and I ran… I… am running.”

He sobbed before cringing and grunting in frustration, ‘Shut up! Just… just think!’

Looking to the side of the street he saw a man who’d been crushed by fallen debris and some weeping children which were huddled around him.

Against the wall of the building was a bundle of rags in a basket.

Jacque felt his tears and cries falter in his throat as he looked from the urchin children to the basket and then back.

He had an idea.

…

The dhow came as close as Raveres dare allow and as they sailed closer the men worked along the rigging and drew in their triangular sails.

At just a few chains’ distance away, the chaos of the port became more easily visible: people were swarming ships, and some smaller craft had been swamped by the weight of fearful peasants trying to flee the city.

Amidst the crowds on the piers she could see the men bearing the Emir’s standard and the uniform, bright colours, which she was told to have expected at their return.

Her welcoming party was obviously diminished, and only three men stood at the edge of a dock, barring the crowd from rushing past them.

The Druchii wasn’t pleased in the slightest to be leaving so much in the custody of _her_ men, but at Yurin’s quick tongue and assurances, the crew still aboard had given over their fealty to her.

‘For the time being at least…’ she thought caustically.

She didn’t want to think on just how long she could expect these humans to remain so loyal. And though she didn’t feel entirely comfortable to be leaving the ship behind, Raveres knew she really had no other choice…

Without Sadalsuud she’d have no future to her mission… And no security to her plans once again. The lack of reliability in sailing the small dhow all the way back to Naggaroth also plagued her thoughts.

Though she was keeping her face as mysterious and her plotting as hidden as possible, she drew some measure of comfort that her ‘companion’ the pauper-prince was also troubled.

Yet unlike her he made no efforts to masque them.

Balik pursed his lips and darted his eyes around with a scowl, not directed at her, but instead at the situation around them; the chaos, the confusion and running… Raveres thought that it must have reminded him of fleeing his own city in a way.

Though, since Yurin had spoken for Raveres, the prince stepped forwards with a strange purpose in his gait, and he seemed dour at the moment but whenever she’d match his eye he’d quickly soften and smile towards her.

She’d nod in acknowledgement, but she knew that despite his smile, or his satisfied expression when viewing her, his professions of ally-ship were based on their mutual use of one another…

Wisely; Raveres mistrusted the man.

He was someone who sought back his crown, a man with nothing left but his name and claim. The pauper-prince…

As they lowered into the longboat she eyed the human keenly, the excitement of the moment spurred her along and she plotted wildly. Eventually agreeing; ‘I must watch him more keenly now, with any luck he’ll fall in the confusion of the city.’

Dahi and Samahd were left aboard the ship, but once again she’d demanded the best fighters and strongest men to accompany her ashore in the longboat.

They filled the small vessel with as many men as would fit, and only a token crew remained aboard the dhow.

…

Rowing their longboat to the dock the men ordered to have awaited her arrival hailed and hastily welcomed Raveres.

Yet they became inarticulate and wan when they watched her rise from the boat and step onto land. Her silver hair blew in the breeze and her elven features drew the attention of everyone along the pier.

However she was focused, and though she would have relished the attention, she wanted more to know what had happened since the morning and strode forwards with such command that the men at her back sped along with serious faces, determined to face whatever was to come.

Cutting off the Emir’s men with a raised hand Raveres spoke and had Yurin elicit the story from them as best they could tell it. The retainer stood straight as the men looked at him with fear in their eyes.

Yurin hid his nervousness as he translated and maintained a serious and professional appearance as he explained to Raveres what the men were telling him.

Allegedly a riot had broken out nearer the foreign quarter of the city, despite the Emir’s men responding to it, the brawling engagement quickly escalated and spread before the city guard could contain it.

From the inception of the riot two of the city’s main gates were then captured by coordinated mercenaries, and what followed that had been hours of bloody fighting.

As they had noticed from the sea it appeared that the city had been put to siege and so she had Yurin ask of it; the guards explained that it wasn’t a true siege, but rather that raiders waiting outside the city had been allowed in through a few of the gates.

In response Sadalsuud had deployed his men from the palace and summoned all loyal swords to fulfill their oaths to retake the quarter, the captured gates, and push the raiders out.

The bulk of the fighting seemed to have already finished, but there still remained confusion and disarray.

As well the confused and fearful peasants, escaping the fighting, began flooding the other means of exit to Al Daouk, which naturally, exacerbated the job of the Emir’s men in corralling and maintaining order.

Raveres wasn’t pleased to have heard any of this news, but her features were cold and steady as she drew her sword and ordered her men forwards.

The Emir’s men furrowed their brows but said nothing as she stepped along the dock and through their line.

Yurin conveyed her command and with their weapons drawn the sailors forced their way through the crowd and towards the gate back into Al Daouk.

Stepping ahead Prince Balik eclipsed Yurin and followed Raveres at her left side, eagerly drawing his own sword.

The she-elf ignored the faces and stares of the loud crowd of peasants; instead she remained focused, with her eyes trained forwards.

Many of the streets were deserted; some had wounded people collected together, tending to one another, while religious priests in dazzling colours offered words of hope and comfort to the dying.

Raveres surveyed these scenes with mute interest.

Yurin plodded along at her right side, awkwardly moving his blade in his sword hand, determined at once not to embarrass or fail her again, and also consumed with anxiety to be in a situation where he’d potentially use his weapon in the sight of his master.

…

Some alleys had bodies thrown down and into them from the street based melee, but for the most part the soldiers at the port were correct, the battle proper was over by now.

It took a while but eventually Raveres and her entourage found their way to the foreign quarter and some of the sights became familiar to her.

She began to notice some of the buildings and stalls that she had passed when first entering the city with the knight and squire.

Having to move while on foot was somewhat irritating though, and she thought about a horse to speed her along.

Such fancies were thrown off and she redoubled her efforts to present as menacing a sight as possible.

Raveres tilted her face downwards and trod forwards occasionally turning to yell at the sailors, Yurin would translate and occasionally she’d ask them a question, such as if they were tired, or if they had bite in their blades still.

They were eager and the more that they saw the blackened and raided buildings of their home city the more ire grew in their chests.

Coming to a juncture Raveres looked down either street before turning her ears, keenly, to the sound of fighting.

The street to their right had become dominated by gruffly cloaked mongrels in bitter melee with the familiar coloured men of the Emir’s service.

Yet as she saw it she could tell the fighting was far from over.

The Emir’s men were falling back, and she could see past the fighting was a gate house and the open doors through the city’s wall.

Without looking to Yurin, Balik, or the men at her back, Raveres growled and cried as she raised her blade aloft.

_“Sa’an’ishar!”_

The fighting which followed was bloody.

While the raiders and the Emir’s men were both tired from the hard combat they had already done, at the appearance and reinforcement of Raveres and her fresh men the battle quickly turned into a route and a slaughter.

Following after the she-elf’s example the sailors and the city guards pushed the raiders back out through the gate, and retook the gatehouse towers.

With the gate now closed the Emir’s men appreciatively hailed the entourage.

From there Raveres assisted in rallying pocketed or abandoned men, before following the fights to where it was thickest, the Emir’s men formed with the sailors and as they grew in numbers they set towards reinforcing along the quarter of the city until they reached the main ‘battle’.

Eventually the Druchii came to see a sight she’d not forget for a while…

Sadalsuud sat atop a resplendent warhorse, directing and bellowing orders.

Trumpets sounded and the men moved as they pushed the armed raiders out of the city.

She smirked and shook her head.

There’d be time for talk after this was all sorted out.

She cried ‘battle’ again and Yurin translated, the men repeated the words and joined their comrades as Sadalsuud’s eyes widened in surprise to see ‘his’ elf returned.

…

Bringing her fingers to her broken esophagus a woman itched at the uncomfortable tightness which she’d yet to become used to.

A voice in her head that was not her own, comforted her with the knowledge that her neck wouldn’t be much longer this way; soon enough she’d be restored.

She smiled and her blue lips parted to reveal her yellowed and salt-stained teeth.

Bile had also tarnished her ivory fangs, and she’d vomited from the constant tossing of her small craft amidst the waves.

Yet no matter how high the water towered over her boat a supernatural force had not yet allowed the seas to claim her.

She’d already been claimed.

She’d worked masterfully, and as a servant she’d outshone what had initially been expected of her.

A head of her craft she saw the familiar standard of an Estalian ship and the woman continued to smile grotesquely.

Her corpselike features glowed with a tainted excitement as she beheld, finally, her passage home.

With the tainted and accursed forces continuing to move her along Marianna let out a low cackle as the ship’s lookouts spotted her life-raft.

‘Slaanesh has smiled upon me once more…’ she sighed and agreed.

Looking down into the small boat she reached for a small dirk. A parting gift from Annio…

She cackled again as she picked the weapon up.

The ship was growing closer and now she could see the small figures moving rapidly along it’s rigging and deck.

‘Who could have foreseen this?’ she wondered.

Raising her left hand above her head she began waving slowly towards the ship approaching her.

‘I wonder if the creature I’d borne has thrown off its cradle yet?’

She scoffed and felt a wave of revulsion, ‘I’m sure it’d desire a better meal than those rotten pirates…’

An otherworldly surge made her twitch and shiver; she was no longer a simple devotee… She’d since become a vessel as well.

Within her mind resided another, more sinister voice.

‘From here it shan’t be long to home…’ she offered.

Men aboard the Estalian ship waved and began calling across the water to her.

Her throat continued to itch and her smile continued to grow.

“No…” the voice agreed, “it shan’t be long at all.”

…

“Sadalsuud says that your return must have been foretold by the gods.” Yurin panted.

The young retainer was coated by dirt and blood and his hair was now thickly matted with sweat.

Raveres was looking battle tested as well, yet she had skillfully maintained her distance during the fighting and stopped herself from getting too ‘stuck in’ and as such she never became surrounded by blows.

Her armour sported some superficial scratches, but so far her castle-forged Druchii plate remained unmarred, minus what had already happened to the cuirass of course.

She nodded and looked at the merchant prince.

“Does he know at all why or how this happened?”

Listening intently as Yurin spoke Arabyan Sadalsuud looked to Raveres before letting out a sigh and shaking his head.

She pursed her lips and knelt to take hold of a dead man’s tunic.

Cleaning the blood off her steel sword she nodded and spoke up over the cries and the noise of the soldiers.

“Is the city secure now?”

Sadalsuud nodded and Yurin repeated his words, “The bastards were thickest here, some made off with trinkets and loot from the bazar, but it seems that the majority of their spoils were in flesh. They absconded with many men, women, and children.”

He spat to his side and his horse whinnied while swaying nervously.

Yurin nodded as Sadalsuud became heated.

“He says that as we speak his strongest riders are marshalling at the Sapphire Palace. By day’s end they’ll have ridden down the raiders and their heads will line each gatehouse.”

Raveres nodded in approval, a wry smile on her lips.

“Does he know who the men were?”

At this Sadalsuud nodded, “He says that they were mostly sell-swords, mercenaries, and desert raiders, they were in and amongst the city it was coordinated and planned.”

She nodded and furrowed her brow.

A building crashed and loudly groaned as it fell, the fire within had been extinguished by the city watch, but not before it had become a blackened ruin.

A half-armoured man rode along the street and hailed Sadalsuud.

The two spoke hastily before the regent turned back to Raveres and pointed to ‘her’ men.

Yurin repeated the words and the fat bearded man looked at the she-elf earnestly.

“He asks if we’d assist his men in combing the streets and aiding the-“

Raveres raised her hand and cut off her retainer.

She bowed her head at the neck and then locked eyes with Sadalsuud.

“Tell him I will, and at this we shall call our debts to one another paid.”

The merchant prince drew a deep breath before nodding emphatically.

“And,”

He paused in his nodding and raised a brow, somewhat concerned at the interjection.

“…that I will have what we initially bargained.”

He nodded again, though this time less enthusiastically, he also added a few words.

Yurin held back a chuckle, “He says only if you will be prepared to tell him all of what happened at sea.”

Raveres smirked and stowed her blade, “I shall.”

The Arabyan smiled, having understood the words without need of Yurin.

…

Stepping along with the Arabyans Raveres felt like a glorified sentry.

They were going street by street, checking bodies, capturing wounded hostiles, while also assisting fallen comrades. The bulk of her sailors were returned back to Sadalsuud’s service, yet she still remained in command of a token force.

The pauper-prince also remained at her side. If she was in a more harmonious mood she’d have commented to Yurin that she’d gained a most noble-born pet in the form of Balik.

But the tenseness of the torn city left no room for humour in the Druchii, or in her Arabyan companions.

Each sight made them lower and more resolved to their task, and eventually they strode along a road that she’d recognised.

Yurin spoke with the men and confirmed for her that the Bretonnian Embassy was to found along their path and that the familiarity of the sights were from her earlier visit down these roads.

She held a lighter breath of fondness as she thought about her first arrival to the city. How much the current scenes paled when compared to it…

But before they came to the oddly constructed Breton building, Raveres saw something irksome along their path.

Turning down the street from the bazar she saw two corpses lying in the open street.

They’d seen many bodies so far, so at first she was surprised at her own apprehension, yet something eerie washed over her as her eyes first spotted them.

Besides Raveres, Yurin watched his master uneasily as she stopped.

Squinting down the road the retainer saw that one of the bodies was clad in armour, and the other was in simple underclothes; a plain tunic, hosen, and boots.

The she-elf tilted her head as she stepped closer towards the fallen men.

And Yurin furrowed his brow until he too, recognised one of them.

Raveres’ pace slowed.

Prince Balik and the few men still accompanying her quieted and watched her uneasily.

Her sword hand opened and she tentatively moved the hand as she beheld Sir Jean’s pale and blank face.

His eyes looked off listlessly into the distance.

Blood had pooled under his body, and she beheld that he’d been savagely wounded from fighting.

Yurin’s mouth opened in mute dread.

He watched as she tentatively stepped forwards and knelt at the knight’s side.

Extending her gauntlet covered right hand she slowly touched the steel to his pale and bluing cheek.

Turning her head to the other side she looked at the sprawled corpse of the armoured man.

Rising from her kneel she stepped towards the other corpse with barely contained disgust.

Blood had flowed out of the other dead knight and pooled around his helmeted head.

With a low growl and raised grunt Raveres dug her right fingers under the man’s visor and ripped it upwards to reveal his face.

She recognised it immediately.

Both his eyes had been taken, and his face was coated in blood but she could see through the gore and gaping wounds of his eyes that it was one of the knights who’d accosted her and the squire...

She slowly stood and drew her sword.

Letting out a loud cry the she-elf raised the black steel longsword, the men stepped back and let out surprise as Raveres brought the weapon down towards the knight’s gorget.

With the sound of tearing metal and wet cracking, she cleaved through the armour and Sir Cratoun’s head came free from his body.

Swapping her sword to her left hand she descended and reached her right gauntlet towards the bloody stump of the human’s neck.

Taking a firm hold of some of the vertebrae still attached to his skull she lifted the head from out of the helmet, kicking the steel armour away with an angry growl.

Yurin’s eyes widened and his face paled as he began heaving and vomited to the side.

Prince Balik and the sailors looked on in quiet approval as Raveres brought the face up and closer to her view.

Her lips twitched in a snarl, she looked towards Prince Balik and the man nodded knowingly.

With a throw she tossed the grotesque trophy towards him and he caught it.

Yurin fell to his knees and his head swam as he tried to maintain himself.

“Yurin” she called.

He nodded and gasped as he spoke, “Y-yes m-my lady…”

“Stand up.”

Nodding and sputtering his mouth empty he stood weakly, his chest awash with anxiousness and adrenaline.

Sheathing her sword Raveres knelt back towards Sir Jean and extended her right hand to again caress his cheek, this time however her grazing of his face was longer and she ended it by pressing his eyelids closed.

“The boy’s not here.” She finally said lowly.

Yurin looked past her and around the area; there was no sign of the squire.

“N-no, it doesn’t look l-like it my lady.”

She seemed calm now, despite her earlier cry of rage, and her voice ignored Yurin as she thought aloud, “He fell to another’s blade.”

She looked around the area and eyed Sir Jean’s broken sword, then the pile of his and Jacque’s armour.

Then she looked back towards Cratoun’s body; the fallen knight’s sword had only flecks of blood on it.

“He was felled by the other. The leader…”

She looked at Sir Jean’s chest, his deep wound and the dirt brushed onto his tunic from where he was kicked,

“No doubt they pursued the boy…”

She snarled again as she rose to stand, “Yurin, have him wrapped and brought to the palace.”

The retainer nodded and gulped before relaying the order.

“A-and the other?”

Raveres’ voice was plain as she stepped past the bodies, “I care naught.”

He shook his head; he wasn’t referring to the body of Cratoun.

“No my lady… I mean…”

She stopped and turned her head to show just her profile.

Yurin paused.

“The other man”

Raveres turned back away and stepped forwards as she answered,

“I shall find him.”

The retainer nodded, and he dared not pursue the point further.

…

Candlelight flickered in Lady Naguii’s bed chamber and she opened her eyes to the sound of approaching footfalls.

She rose from the bed and blinked in the dimly lit room.

Titos entered and drew in a curt breath when he saw his wife’s unsettling eyes again.

“The fool?”

He nodded, “Shall play his part.”

She quietly affirmed, ‘mhmm’ before blinking.

Titos exhaled tensely and she raised her brow, she knew him well enough that he was holding something back.

“What is it my love?”

For a moment Lord Titos appeared torn, but after closing the bedchamber’s door he instantly spoke, his voice plainly uneasy.

“He’s intent on marriage, and I feel this has all gotten out of hand.”

He shook his head and looked up as he stepped towards their bed.

“How can we be sure that your vision was even one of flesh and bone? I mean…”

He darted his eyes away from his wife and his voice rose as he thought aloud, “We’re going to be the ones to end the truce among the families… The streets are going to run red with feuding for at least a generation after this.”

Lady Naguii leant back and rested herself against her pillows as she eyed her husband. She finally interjected, “The Kalinsides are weak.”

He pursed his lips, and responded reservedly, “That may be so…”

He smirked, “We’ll kill those in our way and make use of who is left, aye?”

Lady Naguii allowed a mute smile in response.

Titos’ face drooped and instantly his wife felt a burn of indignation.

“What is with this hand wringing?!” she snapped.

Titos immediately furrowed his brow and rose from his seat.

“The boy is a snake my love!”

She remained unmoved.

“I’ve sent our men out, I’ve taken care of it… but”

She raised a brow and repeated, “But?”

“He has made himself indispensable for the moment… It shan’t be that easy to be rid of him.”

Lady Naguii let out a low breath which rose into a seethe.

“Allow me to draw steel and-“

Her voice faltered and she choked up.

Immediately Lord Titos furrowed his brow and looked at her in concern.

She shook her head from side to side and moved forwards from her seat as she coughed and spoke, “Where i-is our _son?_ ”

Lunging towards his wife in concern he touched her shoulder as he began thinking. Titos knew that she could only be referring to Malith.

But he didn’t see what the purpose of the sudden turn was.

“He was on campaign in the Witch King’s name,” he answered hastily, “We’ve no letters since he left Naggarond, I’m sure that he’ll be in triumph soo-“

She shook her head and pushed her husband’s hands off her shoulder.

“He’s done something _foolish_ my love…”

She shut her eyes tightly.

Titos groaned and let out a breath of frustration.

“I have no patience for this! Prophecy and visions? I never took my wife for a raving Hag!”

Lady Naguii snarled, “Bring that stupid Jaylish up here!”

Titos turned and stood adamantly, staring his wife down.

“As Krieta had told me it would become clearer _in time_.”

Titos scoffed at the thought of the bloody woman who’d followed his wife home. _Krieta the Death Hag…_

He shuddered and centred himself as he spoke, “I’m about to lead our family into a ruse with the Kalinsides, _at your suggestion_ , and now you’re saying that we’ve no need for low intrigue?”

He shook his head angrily, “That now, ‘it’s all clear’ and that you can _‘see’_ it?”

He placed one hand on his hip and raised the other to point at his wife.

“It was your idea to make use of their resources in the first place!” he paused.

“I’ve already resolved to killing both Raykar and Jaylish! My men are in motion! Things have been set turning!”

His voice rose and Lady Naguii blinked as her pupils refocused on him, she raised her lip and shot, “Lower your voice… Jaylish still draws breath!” in a hush.

Titos’ face twitched and he turned around in exacerbation, “Are you!”

He bit his tongue and shook his head before looking back at Lady Naguii.

Husband and wife eyed one another for several quiet seconds before she broke the silence.

“There’s no reason we can’t also use this to our advantage.”

Titos sighed.

“Blacklight can become ours, _if_ we act properly.”

Closing his eyes and drawing in a breath the Dreadlord placed both of his hands on his hips and stared holes into the ground.

“What do you suggest?”

Lady Naguii brought a hand to her head and touched her temple.

“It’s… h-hazy.”

She grit her teeth and appeared to be straining.

“But… I see that… The threat… the force set against our family, _my blood, my children_ ”

She coughed and shut her eyes tightly.

“It’s due to something that Malith has done.”

Titos darted his eyes away in disbelief.

“I do not _see_ how this is even something worth list-“

She held up her hand and snapped, “Silence Titos!”

He pursed his lips and bit his tongue, but his eyes began stabbing his wife like daggers.

Her voice returned and she closed her eyes, punctuating her syllables with movement of her finger.

“We shall face this together.”

He let out a heavy breath through his nose before nodding once.

“So we shall my love, even as the dark pits take us.” His voice was shot through with sarcasm and resignation.

When her blood red eyes opened she tilted her head to the side coyly as she invoked her maiden-self.

“Titos…”

He raised a brow and met her gaze.

“Yes”

Lady Naguii let out a weary breath, “I’m sorry for my premature urging of you my love.”

Titos stepped towards the bed and sat back down.

He shook his head and aimed his hand towards hers.

“Have I become so a feared in my age?”

She smirked.

“We’re not that old my love.”

Titos looked towards one of the candles.

“I was not meant for such a life.”

Watching her husband he let out a scoff, continuing to stare down the flickering light and melting wax.

“A haughty provincial…” his voice lowered, “You know that’s what they call me.”

“Bastard, _lowborn_.” He quieted and he nodded.

“You highborn… living such long lives”

He let out a breathless chuckle.

“I’ve thought about it before. How many times I ought to, by rights, be dead.”

Touching her hand to her husband’s shoulder Lady Naguii nodded, “But you’re not.”

He nodded.

She smirked and allowed a private smile as she moved her hand from his shoulder to his neck, “You’re alive, and you’re mine, and you’re with me.”

He nodded again.

“Why do you fear my love?”

He simply exhaled in response.

“The suddenness of it all?” she shook her head, “The gods pull the threads of fate how they will, things happen and there may be a pattern to it, or there may not. They can pull, _as can we._ ”

She nodded and moved closer to her husband, pressing her face to his neck as her voice shifted.

“We shall make them dread our name.”

“Why not dream big? _Why not realise it all at once?”_

She tightened her hand’s grip on his skin.

“Damn the timing, damn what others think or say. They shall cower before us.”

She nodded, “Now is the time.”

Titos exhaled and his voice sounded raw, utterly without pretense or an act to punctuate it.

“But I do not understand what is unfolding before us…”

Lady Naguii kissed her lips to his shoulder and moved her head, “Neither do I my love… But we shall see it through, _together._ ”

He let out a heavy breath, before asking, “What more of the future do you see?”

His voice was uneasy, apprehensive of the answer to come.

Lady Naguii moved her face up from kissing at her husband and stared into the candle which had transfixed her husband.

“I see death… And the Witch King…”

She paused and shut her eyes tightly.

“Our son… his mission,” her lip moved as she grit her teeth, “something he’s done.”

She shook her head.

“Perhaps my worry over Raveres was misdirected…”

She groaned and brought her hand to her forehead as it throbbed.

“My love…” she cringed in pain.

“I know not what it is I see… I…” she began panting and let go of her husband.

Tito’s eyes opened and he moved to begin cradling his wife.

“I hear echoes of _his_ voice…”

She groaned and let out a pent up scream, it was mixed both of frustration and of pain.

“Gahhhhh! Bring that Death Hag back here!”

She shivered as if she’d been thrown into the bleak of midwinter.

Tito’s face became awash with concern.

“I swear my love… send for her! I d-demand… a”

She grit her teeth and shut her eyes tightly.

“I want this ichor to be drawn from my mind as if drawn from a wound!”

Titos nodded but did not let go of his beloved.

Yelling to one of the young slaves which acted as the manor’s runners he sent for Riccard.

That Death Hag would be brought back whether she wanted to or not…

…

When the city was well and truly secured Raveres met with Sadalsuud and his generals.

Yurin translated and she stood during the whole emergency meeting.

But she didn’t appear to be listening to her retainers’ words.

Sadalsuud listened to his Vizier and commanders as they spoke aloud and gave reports, but he would dart his eyes towards her in concern.

She was staring blankly past the men, somewhere at the tile floor.

Her eyes had settled on an oddly shaped piece of white glass set into the mortar.

Yet she did not stir.

She merely remained steady. Breathing and blinking as Yurin translated the proceedings into Druhir.

Eventually she spoke.

“I shall ride with your men.”

Sadalsuud and all the men present turned towards the Druchii after Yurin repeated her words into Arabyan.

She looked towards Wick’tus and then Sadalsuud, “Give me a horse. I shall ride with your men.”

Yurin repeated the words and the men began speaking to one another tentatively.

Wick’tus nodded and whispered to his liege, “Asada was slain; we’ve no adequate replacement my lord…”

He nodded and looked at Raveres.

“Perhaps the Druchii could do well by it?”

Sadalsuud pursed his lips.

“We’ve no idea where they’ve gone…”

The men grunted in affirmation.

Until their trackers returned they were still at a loss as to where the raiders intended to flee.

He shook his head before smirking.

“Prince Balik!” The meeting members turned to look at the pauper-prince leaning against the wall and sipping at a glass of wine.

He piqued up and turned towards the men with interest.

Raveres raised a brow and looked from Sadalsuud to the Prince.

“Would you do me a favourable honour?”

…


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Summary: The Squire flees; Sadalsuud holds court, and the Druchii spills blood

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Nineteen

Jacque pulled the ragged cloak down over his brow.

Since concealing himself in the appearance of the average urchin, he’d been able to easily slip under the eyes of the men chasing him.

Moving through the forest of legs and tightly packed peasants, the young Bretonnian darted down an alley.

Drawing the ragged cover across his face he paused in his sobbing to cough and groan in disgust.

The filthy cloth smelt of sweat and grime; and not his own.

He wanted to retch, but he wasn’t yet free of the men after him, they could just as easily catch up to him

‘I need to get to the port…’ he thought with a nod.

But then the apprehension over whether any friendly faces would be there to greet him came and reared ‘round in his mind.

Changing his course he cut across a sparsely populated street and into another alley.

He knew, roughly, where he was; the bazar had earlier acted as his main landmark, but now he was using the occasional glimpse of the tall minarets and resplendent towers of the noble quarter to judge his position.

Just a few streets away he was sure he could make it back to Sir Jean… his body… and to the road which the Bretonnian consulate was housed on.

The port wouldn’t be safe… he mentally scoffed; nowhere was safe at the moment.

But maybe the representative of Duke Meroux…

‘If not the port, than… the Ambassador? He’s our countryman!’ he shook his head and stopped a sob in his throat. “You fool! The only man you could trust is…”

He pursed his lips and stepped forwards, desperately avoiding the thought to come.

The awkward pressing of his Asur-Druhir-Breton language book along his belt irked him, and he thought embarrassingly about _her._

‘She’s not back yet…’ he shook his head, ‘she wouldn’t be back for a while yet…’

He let out an awkward noise, now angry at himself and his ‘fancy’ over her,

‘Even if she was? What… do you think she’d take pity upon us? S… S-Sir Jean is dead.’

Jacque growled and petulantly smacked his hand along the wall of the alley beside him.

“He’s g-gone!”

Pausing he leant against the wall for a moment.

Catching his breath he began racing in his mind, what would he do now?

He shivered.

Despite the warmth of the day, the sun overhead, and the dirty cloak covering him, little Jacque began shivering and his teeth chattered as he thought about his question.

‘What do I do now?’

Before he could answer himself there was a crash and laughter of boisterous men down the alley and in the street.

Fear and his intention on self-security, made Jacque move away from the wall.

He continued onwards, turning through the near-labyrinthine alleyways of the craftsman’s quarter until he was well and truly lost.

An hour passed…

Or more, since, since his master fell

Jacque slowed and moved his cloak off and let it fall from his shoulders.

The noise of people crying was muted and distant now.

He looked up ahead; alley and deserted straw-strewn streets greeted him.

Behind him was an equal measure of nothing.

He leaned against the wall beside him and really, for the first time since running, he began to weep aloud.

Shaking his head and covering his face with his hands as he slunk down the wall to finally sit on the stone and pebble covered ground.

His eyes burned and his fingers began to grow wet as his tears streamed down his cheeks.

Jacque shivered and his cries became deeper as he threw his all; his frustration, his impotence, his youth, into his breaking heart.

He threw his head back and hit himself against the cool brickwork of the wall.

The pain drew him away from his tears and he did it again.

This time using more force…

It hurt almost as much as his chest did.

And he did it again, _harder_.

He saw stars and slipped down the wall clutching at the egg now forming on the back of his scalp.

He whimpered and continued to let out low cries, but now having given himself something to distract his body from hurting over, he began to calm down just a little.

The throbbing pain gave him something else to contend with.

But the hollow divide which was now expanding within him couldn’t be so easily drowned out.

Bringing his hands to his chest he clutched at his heart and curled against the cool stone wall behind him.

Weeping a little quieter now he lay in as much of a ball as he could form.

…

Raveres had somehow become more imposing since arriving at the palace.

Her lips and face had formed into a scowl, and wherever she walked she was leant forwards and had bent her head so that her brow narrowed in an intense glare.

Her left hand was wrapped around the hilt of her blade, and it was such that it was keeping the sheath straight as she walked; thus maintaining an easier angle from which to draw. It was a threatening pose and she knew exactly what she was conveying by doing it.

During the impromptu meeting with Sadalsuud’s emergency council she’d been awash with a strange stupor, distant, and blank faced as she was lost in her thoughts.

Since then, and since Sadalsuud chose Prince Balik to lead the foray in tracking down the raiders, she’d become more animated, but not in any kind of positive way…

She was seething after Yurin translated and informed her that Sadalsuud was charging the prince and giving him command of the attack.

She immediately asked Yurin about the previously standing prohibition on the enlistment of the prince’s aid, to which the retainer hesitantly explained: Sadalsuud was plainly overthrowing the existing convention regarding Balik and the respect afforded his sister.

Both the Princess and her demesne of ‘Al Qu La’ were hundreds of miles away, and as it stood Sadalsuud couldn’t care about her potential ire or wroth.

At this news Raveres wanted to protest, she wanted to scream at the humans and drive her fist through one of their faces to get her way.

But instead she stood quietly and seethed.

She withdrew herself, and simply began to boil.

After slipping from the meeting she finalised her deal with Sadalsuud, yet neither party presided over it. She regulated it to Yurin, informing him of her initial charter, and giving him the goal to demand as much as possible. While the Vizier Wick’tus represented the Emirate…

The retainer and the vizier draughted a more than favourable contract upon parchment and the pact between the Druchii and Merchant-Prince was finally sealed.

Though normally Sadalsuud would have been very keen indeed on the terms he’d acquiesced to, in Raveres’ brief absence he’d become far more enamoured with his new responsibilities, and the coronet of the Emirate was becoming a more comfortable fit for the third-born Al Daouk.

Though of course the recent chaos of the raid had stolen the majority of his attention as well…’

…

With the city now secure Raveres took leave of the Palace and was able to watch over the unloading and transport of her ship’s precious cargo.

Standing at the edge of the stone quay where the wooden pier connected to the old granite landing the she-elf watched the men intensely.

Her right hand curled into a fist, and her left maintained on her sheath as she stood as still as death. Only briefly would she move her head, but mostly it was her purple eyes which darted around, scrutinising the sailors and on looking peasants.

Her armour glinted in the light and drew the fearful interest of many and to some it appeared as if she was a carved statue of black and ivory marble.

Beside her Yurin held fast and wrote down on a wax tablet with a thin wood stylus, roughly tabulating the worth and contents of what had been brought ashore so far.

After the chests were given a brief inspection by Yurin and Raveres the sailors then loaded the mixed chests of elvish and pirate loot onto a horse drawn wagon.

As each man passed their Druchii observer they’d nod their heads, or purse their lips in quiet and respectful affirmation.

Despite her scowl the men followed a compulsion to address her, and as each sailor passed giving his respect she stood straighter and her features thawed minutely.

When they reached the last two chests her emotions seemed to have settled significantly.

Her growing ego at the men’s attention was overtaking the perceived insult of Balik’s selection.

When the men finished they looked to her, almost expectantly, as she saddled upon the same horse which had borne her to the harbour the day they sailed.

The Emir’s guards escorting the wagon eyed the sailors with interest.

The acting captain of the vessel, Dahi, raised his fist in the air, some golden bangles of his ‘payment’ adorning his wrist and arm.

At first the Druchii snapped her attention towards him with narrowed eyes.

He had yelled her name.

Then one of the other sailors, his right arm bandaged and in a sling held his left fist in the air and echoed Dahi, crying; “Raveres!”

Wrapping her reins around her hand and steadying herself atop the mount she raised a brow as the sailors began repeating one another, now chanting her name; _Raveres, Raveres, Raveres!_

One man cried above the chant and they swiftly quieted to hear him.

She looked at Yurin and he immediately translated;

“He’s just said how you slew the kraken in single combat.”

The men let out their agreement and the peasants around the docks watching them began whispering among themselves, some began yelling to the crew and people began crying over one another as a strange excitement began to fill the air.

Raveres raised a brow and looked around the side of the small clearing at the thin crowd.

Yurin’s face was covered in concern as he struggled to mount his own horse. Once safely in his saddle he cleared his throat nervously, “The people _are_ interested my lady… but… we ought to make it back to the palace!”

She nodded and waved her hand to the men driving the wagon.

With a crack of their reins the two horses drawing the cart began plodding forwards.

Following behind her precious cargo she continued to crane her neck to watch the sailors, eventually her curiosity and vanity got the better of her and she asked her retainer, almost eagerly, “What else are they saying?”

Yurin nearly fell from his horse as he looked back at them and trained his ears, “They’re yelling that it was you who had saved the crew… that they’d fight for you again… you…” he sniggered.

She shot him a look of her earlier malice and he immediately quieted, she wasn’t yet cooled enough to hear his laughter.

Straightening in his saddle he held his closed tablet to his abdomen and quickly spoke, “T-that you’re blessed, and though you were nearly bitten in half you fought to escape the great beast’s maw, and what’s more you set to the streets of the city in its defence.”

At this she smirked in disapproval, ‘Little I had to do with _that_ … though… the other praise _is deserved_.’

The sailors continued to cheer, their arms lifted high, while weary and wild-eyed peasants began waving at her emphatically as the wagon passed into the city through the port’s gate. The Emir’s men charged with the security of the gold and Raveres’ person were now looking with both apprehension and incredulity at the she-elf.

Blinking and looking back forwards Raveres ran her tongue along her teeth as she thought to herself, a bittersweet pride now swelling in her heart.

…

In the apartments of the Emir-regent Sadalsuud, the Grand Vizier Wick’tus, several of his palace guard, and one of their informants spoke in hushed tones.

The reports were now meandering and uninteresting, causing Sadalsuud discomfort as he tried to process the latest information as to the damage done to his city.

When he was begrudgingly satisfied, he dismissed his men and waved to one of the returned sailors from the expedition.

“I know that Asada fell in battle…” he grumbled in disapproval, “And…” he laughed hollowly, “you returned with only wounded men and no captives!”

The sailor nodded and looked to the floor dejectedly as the room’s door closed behind the exiting soldiers.

“So tell me, what happened?” Sadalsuud began rubbing his hands in his sleeves expectantly as he awaited the man’s report.

“After Asada fell, well… it all was so quick. I remember your orders but I didn’t expect the captain to be…”

He drew a breath and set towards what Sadalsuud was obviously most keen on hearing about: ‘his elf’.

“She… she slew the twisted beast that the pirate Annio had become.”

Sadalsuud visibly tightened as he exhaled through his nose. Mute approval to hear that the man was finally dead.

Wick’tus whispered into his lord’s ear. The merchant-prince nodded and spoke up, “The taint of chaos took them, yes? The whole ship had become accursed?”

The sailor nodded, “My lord, I swear by all the prophets and gods there may be; it was evil.”

He nodded again, “Right down to the ship’s keel, evil had taken root; the wood was feted and rotting. But…”

He paused and raised his wound covered arm.

“The beast had arms, beyond count… a-and… she just…” he gulped “She drove forwards without fear, _only madness!_ ”

He nodded, “Then knight followed her, before being injured and felled… And then…” he shook his head, “After having her fill of the cursed crew men she dove into the ship shouting the captain’s name…”

Sadalsuud leaned back and looked towards Wick’tus; the vizier turned and eyed their sailor-spy seriously.

“This is embellishment perhaps? It is well known, the martial prowess of the frozen Asur… but to seek out the chaos spawned creature? In single combat?”

He shook his head and chuckled.

The spy’s face dropped and his eyes widened as he felt insulted, “My lord… I, Mahmud Dajeen, tell no lies.”

He stuffed his hand into one of his billowy trousers’ sewn pockets.

Pulling out a fistful of gold and gems he held it aloft.

“She paid us as well! Amply rewarding us for surviving the ordeal…”

He nodded as he let the money fall from his fingers.

“The beast was vast and its arms were beaked… it cried and roared as if to shake the world. It smelt of rot and salt. It bit men apart, and tore others limb from limb as easy as you or I would a roast chicken.”

He shuddered.

“Yet, she showed no fear my lord Emir…”

He swallowed, “Half the men are now utterly afeard _of her_ ,” his voice lowered and he avoided looking at his liege, “and the other…”

Wick’tus stepped forwards, “Speak.”

“They worship the elf my lords.”

He sputtered in disbelief, “They’re peasants’ mostly… low-born rats and superstitious sea-dogs… But they legitimately see her as something to follow,” he coughed, “I… I don’t understand it, but they seem to adore her for her brutality, it’s a vile entrancement. Even after…”

Sadalsuud had an excited glint in his eyes and a strange smile under his beard.

Mahmud shook his head, “she slaughtered one of the men on the island. She cut his throat and threw him into the sea… As an offering to her dark gods,

The spy straightened and rubbed at his wounded arm, “My lord I swear… she is a foreign witch. I am not the only of this mind.”

Sadalsuud raised his hand, “I will hear no such things spoken.”

Raising from his plush seat the merchant-prince stepped away from his desk.

He looked towards the arched opening leading to his balcony.

The skyline of the lower city was changed, instead of elaborately painted and pennant covered homes greeting him, now stood several blackened buildings, and hollowed ruins, marring the otherwise familiar view.

Wick’tus bowed to the spy Mahmud and turned to follow Sadalsuud to the stone rail of the balcony.

Watching his masters uneasily the spy dropped to recollect his plundered gold before making his exit.

When their informant had left Wick’tus finally spoke.

“She’s not the muted creature you expected?”

Sadalsuud sniggered, “She never was mute. She had a tongue like a dagger the first time I met her. The knight did his best to temper her words.”

He smiled to himself.

“But she was an elf through and through.” He nodded whispering, “A princess.”

Wick’tus narrowed his brow.

“She’s a Druchii, is she naught?”

Sadalsuud shook his head, “It’s a fancy… I know she’s not a literal-“ he turned and looked at his Vizier with an exasperated expression.

The aged Vizier nodded, “Ah… I see. Apologies my lord,”

Nodding Sadalsuud looked back over his demesne with a heavy sigh,

“Yet I wonder…”

After a few quiet seconds he then turned from the stone rail and back into his rooms.

Wick’tus took a breath and sounded wearily as he began, “My lord, I will speak to you frankly now.”

Sadalsuud stopped mid-stride and turned to look at the aged councillor, an eyebrow raised in surprise.

“The sooner the Druchii leaves, the better it will all be for us.”

He stepped forwards, raising a hand in placation continuing, “She’s fulfilled her bargain, and as per your order I saw to your contract. But she shouldn’t be expectant of our hospitality for too much longer my lord.”

Sadalsuud furrowed his brow in disappointment.

Wick’tus’ voice lowered as he came closer, “My lord… please you must realise this all.”

In a short while Sadalsuud was forced to confront the reality of his situation; he was not free to do as he pleased, he had things to consider now… politicking, an actual crisis on his hands.

Honour, face, and his Emirate were at stake.

“We must mitigate the potential of her perceived influence. You heard from our man.”

Sadalsuud reluctantly walked towards his seat and sat back down.

Even though he had held council with his commanders and his spy earlier, this was the ‘real’ meeting.

“She’s already seen… _favourably_ by some. Others rightly fear her, and so we must consign this all to the past. Sell her a vessel, fill it, and see her away.”

Sadalsuud’s mouth opened and he leaned forwards but stopped himself.

Inside he felt like a scolded child, he was not one to be denied, _he wanted her_. And by rights he would have her if he so desired. Especially now!

‘I am the Emir!’ he wanted to roar.

Yet faced with the immovable expression of the ancient Vizier, he paused.

“Do not think I don’t know you my lord. I watched yo-“

Raising his hand Sadalsuud silenced yet another lecture reminding him of his childhood.

“What of Balik? What of any of her involvement here?”

Wick’tus nodded and exhaled, “She’s already made a retainer of Yurin.”

Sadalsuud furrowed his brow, “What?”

Wick’tus leaned back somewhat, “Oh… I… Forgive me my lord, I thought you knew?”

Grumbling Sadalsuud brought his hand down firmly to rest on his desk. Through a grit expression he changed the subject, “Tell me why I shouldn’t enlist her aid further?”

Wick’tus nodded, “The same reason why I would have suggested against further use of the Prince, Balik.”

The aged man grunted and cleared his throat, “Even now I am sure his sister has caught wind of our favour towards him.”

Sadalsuud groaned and leaned his chair back off its front feet. The teak wood of the furniture creaked under the weight and strain he was giving it.

“Damn his sister, she can pound sand, the little _usurper…”_

Wick’tus nodded, “Though that may be, she’s still a powerful woman to cross. And as it sits, we are not in the most advantageous position.”

Sadalsuud brought his chair down and began rubbing his neck, “All the more reason to keep and make use of the Druchii!”

Wick’tus pursed his lips.

“Am I wrong in thinking that allies are useful? With the death of Asada, my useful courtiers grow thinner indeed!”

“We have many who can fill that void my lord.”

Sadalsuud shook his head curtly as he stood, “I wish the elf to stay my guest a while longer.”

Wick’tus furrowed his brow.

“Until which time shall she depart my lord?”

The regent eyed his advisor tensely,

…

When Raveres and her escort arrived through the lapis gates to the Sapphire Palace she withdrew her leg over her mount and slipped off with a skill that Yurin thought she’d been born in the saddle.

The way she moved her head was as if she’d decided something.

“Yurin” she announced, “I’m going after those bastards whether Sadalsuud likes it or not.”

The erudite retainer paled as he caught his foot in the stirrup, “M-my lady?”

The riders hadn’t yet left the palace’s stables and were still marshalling towards the side of the palace’s grounds.

She stole a glance down the gardened promenade towards them and stepped up the stone stairs of the palaces’ façade with a quickened pace.

“Yurin!” she called.

“Aye milady!” he responded.

Straightening his belt and adjusting his grip on the wood and wax tablet he increased his step to catch up to her, but by the time he reached the stairs he had to hop them two levels at a time to get atop the landing.

…

“My lady wishes me to convey that this is not a request.”

Sadalsuud looked from Yurin to Raveres uneasily before Wick’tus interjected,

“And I would have you relay to your _master_ that she remains our guest, and it is only due to Lord Sadalsuud’s infinite grace that she remains so. We’ve given her an apartment quarters fitting nobility, and have extended curtesy to her befitting of her status and more than fitting of her…” he paused, almost for emphasis, “ _situation_.”

Yurin relayed the response and Raveres looked at the Vizier with a strange expression before speaking.

The retainer’s face became sullen as he translated, “My lady asks where her knight was taken and if the squire’s been found.”

Sadalsuud furrowed his brow in confusion, “What does that mean?”

Wick’tus pursed his lips and momentarily paused.

Immediately Sadalsuud looked at his advisor, “What of the knight? And the squire besides? The boy is missing?”

Raveres’ face changed, she didn’t need Yurin to translate; the faces, body language, and tone of Sadalsuud’s words plainly told her what had transpired.

Wick’tus drew a breath and looked at Yurin sternly before turning to his own master, “I did not feel it was worth bothering your lordship with yet.”

Sadalsuud looked at Raveres with a furrowed brow before moving from his advisor, “Explain?”

Wick’tus let out a heavy breath, “We are taxed at the moment my lord! Assailed from brigands and thieves! I did not think it necessary to inform you of the petty requests of a vagabond Druchii, nor the status of a hedge knight and his orphan.”

The regent opened his mouth and stepped while turning away from them all.

‘Orphan’

Sadalsuud’s voice was stern “Wick’tus, tell me.”

The Vizier eyed his regent and finally relented, truly Sadalsuud was not one he could lord over anymore, and now that he was the ruler of Al Daouk he’d better comply while he still had his head.

“The knight was slain in battle, Raveres and our men discovered him earlier today. She ordered them to bring the body here…”

Sadalsuud’s eyes widened and he looked at the she-elf.

Yurin translated and she straightened her back as she crossed her arms, a plain expression across her features.

“They searched for the boy and she had the audacity to order some of your men to continue searching for him among the urchins and children of the city.”

Sadalsuud shook his head in disbelief.

“The knight?” he asked lowly.

He looked from the advisor and Raveres moved her bottom jaw as she held herself still.

She blinked and her light expression gave Sadalsuud his answer.

“Where is he now?”

Wick’tus drew in a breath, “I had the guards take him down to the cellars.”

Sadalsuud turned and set down the corridor of the palace’s grand entrance.

Yurin and Raveres followed, both giving Wick’tus shots of their disapproval, naturally the Druchii’s was the more intimidating.

…

The sounds of the city were dulling somewhat. Or perhaps it was merely that Jacque had gotten used to it.

But after crying himself dry he stood up from his temporary dirt and stone cot.

Wiping his grimy face and eyes he began down the craftsmen’s alley, back the way he had come. Hoping in vain to come to and see a street familiar to him.

Yet stepping into the deserted road he saw only a few bodies, discarded baskets, and upended carts. The only thing which softened the view was that an abandoned pony had discovered a clutch of fruit and was gorging itself.

With no master to discourage it, and no shopkeeper to scream in protest the beast happily ate to its heart’s content.

With an innocent smile Jacque looked over the creature, ‘It’s no saddle… but.’

Stealing looks down either side of the street the squire nodded to himself before apprehensively approaching the mount.

Making ‘cack, cack, cack’ noises with his tongue he made his presence known to the creature.

Looking up from its snack it seemed to regard the youth with benign indifference. With an even voice he petitioned the creature,

“Come on girl… I need your help…”

The pony snorted and brought its foot up almost petulantly in response.

Furrowing his brow Jacque moved forwards with a degree more of confidence.

“Just this once, please… I need your help!” his voice was pleading and the horse whinnied as it turned its head away.

“Come on you stupid animal!” he grumbled in frustration.

The pony stepped away, the straps of its harness and bridle dragging across the straw and refuse strewn street.

Behind him he heard footfalls.

Stealing a glance over his shoulder he paled in horror.

“Grab him!” one man yelled, his club waving high in the air.

“Don’t let him mount!” cried another.

They were brigands, not the same men who had chased him all those hours ago, but they were certainly of the same company.

“No!” the boy cried under his breath.

The pony skittered forwards but Jacque took hold of a handful of the beast’s mane.

Snorting and letting him know its disapproval the pony began clopping down the street with irritated speed in its step.

“Come on you bitch!” he cried, forcing himself along the side of the moving animal.

One of the men behind stopped running to begin swinging a sling.

As the leather thong of the weapon increased its spin the man skillfully released his missile.

Soaring through the air it collided with the pony’s flank and elicited a great cry of pain from the filly.

Kicking and bucking itself as it sped to a gallop Jacque was sent tumbling across the cobbles as his hands slipped from the mane and back of the mount.

Colliding with the stone the squire became winded and quickly cried out in hollowed pain as he tried to regain his breath.

His eyes rolled around as the pony sped down the street, its hooves becoming farther and farther away as his escape became more and more unlikely.

‘N-no…’ he thought, ‘y-you stupid beast… you don’t realise what you’ve done!’

The men got closer to their target and began laughing.

“Whew! Good aim there, I thought he’d nearly gotten away from us!”

The slinger chuckled, “Thanks mate…”

The third prodded Jacques’ body with his club, “Now… let’s see if this little prick is the one we need shall we?”

His arm shaking and shivering violently the youth reached for his sword and drew it with a breathy roar.

“Woah!” the men exclaimed in unison.

Leaping back from the wide arc of the air-slash they began howling with laughter as Jacque drunkenly tried to rise to his feet.

“Come on lad… that’s far too big a sword for so small a boy.” The slinger jeered.

The man with the club stepped forwards while swinging, “Aye! Let me help you with it!”

Jacque barely saw the flash of movement before the wooden cudgel made contact with his head. Immediately falling limp his sword clanged to the stone street and he fell back in a crumple.

“Oi… fuckin’ hell.” The slinger announced amidst laughter.

The clubman nodded with a grimace, “Yeah… I may ‘av hit ‘m too ‘ard.”

“You think?” laughed the third.

“Well… those knights wanted a sword wielding Bretonnian boy. Didn’t exactly specify alive or dead, did they?”

The three mercenaries laughed in agreement as they took Jacque’s sword and one of them threw him over their shoulder.

“Nice piece of iron that.” The slinger announced.

The third man held the sword in his hands and scrutinised the blade, “It’s bloody castle-forged Bretonnian steel!”

The clubman, who had slung the unconscious prisoner over his shoulder, chuckled.

“Aye? That’d fetch a pretty penny no mistake!”

The third man laughed in disbelief, “Sell it? Nah! I’ll keep the thing as long as I can, thing’s probably induned with magic or somefing.”

The slinger shook his head laughing privately as they began a quick pace down the street.

“Wha?” the third man asked.

“Nothin’ just… the word you’re looking for was ‘ _imbued’_.”

Narrowing his brow the third man pursed his lips in embarrassment, “Why you always got a’ go and do that?”

He looked at the clubman and then back at the slinger, “You all knew wha’ I meant!”

The slinger rolled his eyes, “Oh for fucks sake Tanner I was jus’ trying to help ya’ you daft cunt!”

The clubman began laughing as his two fellows began arguing.

Tanner shook his head and pointed at him, “Nah! That’s it mate, you’ve been doin’ it since we left the ‘pub this morn, and even when we ‘ere setting the fire!”

“What’d I say? I says, ‘gotta be careful with this here pitch lest we get caught and hung’.”

Tanner wiped his lip as he stowed his new sword through his belt, “And then you says, all fancy like, ‘Men get hanged, clothes get hung.’”

By now the clubman was roaring with laughter.

“I mean ‘oo the fuck _cares!_ ”

Tanner threw his hands up exasperatedly as the slinger bit his tongue.

“Just ‘cause you’s a former Empire man you’ve got a go and be all fancy with ya bullshite…”

The slinger began to grit his teeth as he rubbed his beard and they continued onwards.

…

Sir Jean’s body was wrapped in an improvised rough spun mourning shroud. The men who’d carried him to the palace and then down to the cool cellar had left him under an arch in a dank aromatic corner of the palaces’ under structure.

Sadalsuud stopped when he saw the covered body.

The three stepped towards the corpse and Raveres remained the farthest as the regent lowered, his chest heaving from their hasty journey down the steps, and took hold of the shroud.

Lifting it away from Sir Jean’s face he saw the closed eyes and blue, peaceful, expression of a man killed in battle.

“How…” he whispered to himself.

Yurin replied, “We know naught the whole tale, but he was felled by one of his countrymen. My lady took one of their heads.”

Sadalsuud pursed his lips and looked away from the body.

“And the others?”

Yurin spoke with Raveres, and the Druchii never took her gaze away from Sadalsuud, unblinking, her violet eyes glittered in the low light of the cellar turned catacomb.

“My lady says that they have no doubt fled the city, the squire in tow, a prisoner now, but…”

Yurin swallowed, “Surely a worse fate awaits him.”

Sadalsuud struggled back to his feet, continuing to breathe heavily, stress-sweat now dotting the brow below his turban.

He pointed a pudgy, ring adorned, finger at the cross-armed Druchii.

“They took your companion?”

Yurin repeated and she nodded, still yet to blink.

Sadalsuud swallowed and looked down at the fallen knight.

“I will see him taken care of… properly. Wounds sewn, his armour and glory restored.”

He nodded.

“Those men who killed him… You know them?”

Raveres nodded and spoke her voice as icy as her homeland.

“My lady says that they sought her and the squire’s blood before, an insult which has…” the retainer sniggered sarcastically, “…obviously escalated.”

Sadalsuud furrowed his brow in anger.

“They are responsible for this?” he pointed upwards, indicating the devastation wrought on his city.

Raveres nodded again and uncrossed her arms.

He stepped forwards, uncomfortably close to the she-elf, yet she showed no signs of revulsion or desire to step away.

“First the pirate… now these men.” He scoffed.

Narrowing his eyes he nodded curtly, “Take a horse. See it ended.”

He looked back at Sir Jean forlornly.

“Don’t let the knight’s death be in vain…”

Raveres bowed her head at the neck and turned to leave. Her boots echoing on the stone floor as her armour clinked and scraped together lowly.

…

Prince Balik beamed a smile to see Raveres riding towards the mounted men.

Though his smile faltered when she roared to the assembly of cavalry and that little worm of hers spoke in his high-tongued Arabyan.

“By allowance of the Emir, my lady shall accompany you.”

She shot a look at Balik and as they finally set forwards on their mission, leaving the palace to the adulation of the present people.

Bringing her horse alongside the prince’s camel Yurin called, repeating her words, “My lady asks, what has become of her head?”

He sighed, he’d since become the unwitting bearer of her trophy. Nodding he reached towards a darkened and damp saddlebag on the left of his mount. Raising it up, he eagerly handed it over to the Druchii. Glad to no longer be custodian of such a grotesquery.

She had a mad excitement in her eyes as she took hold of the bag.

Resting it in her lap she grew a small, private, sadistic smile before looking forwards.

Prince Balik furrowed his brow; a genuine discomfort now began setting into his bones at the malicious expression across the woman’s lips.

He didn’t quite know what to think of the she-elf now.

…

Though Balik had nominal command of the foray the veteran master of horse was the sergeant for the cavalry.

Raveres made sure to council with the man through Yurin.

The scouts who followed the retreating raiders indicated that they had mostly scattered to the winds once they were free of the walls.

Yet the bulk of the enemy, and therefore the captives and heavy loot were easier to track.

They had several hours’ advantage and were miles ahead of Raveres, Balik, and the Emir’s riders, but they had the luxury of not being weighed down by slaves.

It seemed almost folly that the brigands had done what they did.

Surely they knew that the Emir’s retribution would follow swiftly.

Did they honestly not plan that far ahead in their scheme?

When the group started seeing the wounded and dead left to rot at the side of the road by their fellows, they began their interrogation and received their answers.

Raveres did the punishing as Yurin, Balik, and the Master of Horse asked the questions.

Once she set to work, the average among the Emir’s men paled and could only watch on in horror as the Druchii put into practise what they vaguely knew of her kind.

Yurin lasted as long as he could before he had to walk away and plug his ears for the screaming.

Prince Balik gulped and steeled himself, uneasy, and nauseous as he watched the Druchii work.

The only one who appeared unmoved by Raveres’ clinical technique was the Master of Horse; he asked the most questions and would call the she-elf’s name to get her to pause momentarily in her torture.

The first man they found held a broken arm tightly to his abdomen and pleaded for mercy even before Raveres dismounted.

But then she started.

Using the dull tips of her gauntlet she began cutting into and pulling at the skin along his fingers, rending it off his appendages in strips.

As he attempted to fight back she’d kick her heel into his broken arm, exacerbating his already severe wound.

The man, who eventually revealed himself as a sell-sword caught up in the chaos, begged her, but to no avail. She didn’t speak his tongue and didn’t care for his words.

She knew that the men around her would do the asking.

…

“And so what was your plan?” The Master of Horse asked, his voice even and booming, as he remained atop his mount.

“T-there was no plan… I GAHH! _AH HA HAAgh!_ I told you it was Haridah’s company… his men set the _fire!”_

Raveres had now made use of one of the man’s own daggers and was peeling the skin off the man’s unbroken arm.

He screamed and began a maddening wail before she stopped and stood away for a moment.

The horsemen watched on, sternly regarding the man with varying expressions.

Some viewed the mercenary pityingly, others with satisfied anger, and a few felt he’d not yet been punished enough.

Raveres looked up and stared at the Master of Horse, expectantly awaiting his nod for her to continue.

“So you joined in the chaos?”

The man whimpered and screamed in pain as he nodded, desperately trying to keep his arm from getting sand along its wounds.

“T-there was m-many… I…” he leant back and tried to catch his breath, wearily agreeing, “we j-just joined in…”

The Master of Horse nodded to Raveres and she turned back to continue as the man wailed and screamed aloud in protest.

Prince Balik turned his camel away and rode over to check on Yurin.

After a few more questions the Palace’s sergeant waved his hand through the air in a cutting motion before turning around and addressing the men.

Raveres drew her sword and leveled it high as the man’s protests reached a crescendo.

Remounting their horses the mounted company set forwards again.

Yurin was pale and wan and viewed his mistress with an apprehensive terror, trying his best to explain away and justify what she had just done.

Raveres placed the man’s head in the same saddle bag as Sir Cratoun’s. Flies and a reeking stench were beginning to waft from the satchel as the sun bore down on the leather.

As she stepped into her stirrups she spoke deeply to her retainer, “Tell the captain that he is to ask about a boy and the knights to the next man.”

Yurin nodded and repeated the words, he moved in his saddle uneasily and the sergeant grunted in affirmation that’d he’d be sure to ask.

…

The next wounded and abandoned man they found spat at and kicked sand towards Raveres as she dismounted.

He was nursing an arrow lodged through his shoulder and must have fallen from his horse.

‘No matter’, she thought.

Unlike the first man he put up a stronger resistance.

Yurin made sure to avert his eyes, nearly retching as Raveres ‘worked’ on him.

Her earlier cleanliness and skilful cuts were now less so. She was visibly wrathful and cleaved at the man like an inexperienced butcher.

Some cavalrymen vomited.

Most of the information the man gave corroborated what the earlier one had said, yet even after she’d removed each finger from his right hand he did not know anything of two knights or a squire boy.

The only boys he knew of were some that the other men had taken as ‘loot’, slaves to be sold as soon as they reached a flesh-trader.

However the third man they found gave Raveres the answers she sought.

He revealed that there were indeed two armoured knights who had been present when the main host of the men had fled the city.

The dying man also revealed that these Bretonnians intended to drive on towards one of the errantry states with their mercenary company, while the other rag-tag assortment of impromptu raiders were seeking a closer refuge in the city of Al-Haikk, where they could then scatter themselves to the seas.

Prince Balik revealed that the city was one home to one of the largest ports in all of Araby and the Master of Horse indicated that should the knights reach the safety of their own people there wouldn’t be anything he could do, lest they risk sparking military retaliation against Al Daouk.

With a growl the Druchii cleaved the man’s head off as she let out a roar of frustration.

Watching her turn and look across the dunes and sea of sand to their right, Yurin finally got the courage to speak up,

“M-my lady?”

Balik and the Master of Horse began speaking to one another, quieting when Raveres eventually responded.

“Yurin, tell them to split themselves, Balik and half the men shall ride after their own, we shall make for the knights, _before_ they pass from my reach.”

“B-but my lady… can you m-make such orders?”

When she turned she sheathed her blade and remounted, staring at her retainer sternly.

“Say it before I bury you under the books you so treasure.”

Yurin coughed dryly and nodded in fear as he tried to speak,

Several of the men grumbled in disagreement at the words, but silenced at a glance from the master of horse.

Prince Balik spoke with the sergeant and eventually they seemed to agree.

The wait felt like such a waste of time.

And Raveres tightened her grip on her reins as though she was strangling them.

When the men spoke Yurin translated, “We are charged with the rescue of our people, Prince Balik and the Master wish that they could help you. Truly… But…”

Raveres wanted to snarl but maintained her features steadily as she listened.

Yurin swayed as he finished, “They’ll only allow volunteers to… to follow you.”

She scoffed and would have howled with laughter if it weren’t so bright and hot.

Throwing her head back she grunted and turned her horse as she set down the road.

“Make promises of gold! Say whatever you will Yurin… But I will kill those knights, with help or no.”

The men watched sombrely as the Druchii parted from their grouping.

Yurin’s voice weakly relayed the information and some men began speaking to their fellows as the mass of cavalry began down the road.

Despite his hopes Yurin was only able to sway a few men to follow him.

Prince Balik pursed his lips before waving, yelled Raveres’ name as he and the force of men parted, turning left down the well-trod road while she, Yurin, and five mounted men sought to chase down an unknown number of mercenaries.

Looking over her shoulder Raveres briefly made eye contact with Balik before setting in her spurs and jarring her horse into a gallop.

“I didn’t realise she was so mad…” he said.

The master of horse chuckled dryly, “I would not want to have crossed that woman.”

“Though,” the man began, “Tell me prince. What’s the significance of the boy?”

The men increased their own speed hoping to catch up to their quarry.

“The men killed her companion and seem to have taken the boy as a hostage.”

The master nodded, “Aye… I pieced that together.”

Prince Balik shook his head, “From what I could tell the knight was a friend of hers, saved her life, and vice versa.”

The gruff sergeant nodded as he squint his eyes forwards.

“I met him, spoke with him, he seemed a noble sort. Strange that they were allies… but, she’s sworn to aid me as well, so…” Balik nodded and smiled to himself. “I think she’s an odd one among her people.”

The stern sergeant looked over his shoulder at the dust cloud being kicked up by the Druchii, “Gods help those fools.”

…

They rode for near an hour. Raveres swore she could see the glinting of their quarry just ahead. But as time wore on they seemed no closer to whatever it was she had seen along the horizon.

Slowing down to spare the horses the Druchii gained an excited glint in her eye when one of the men announced something and pointed towards the side of the road.

Now, so far from Al Daouk, the nicely paved and well kempt highway had devolved into pounded rough stone and dirt, held down only by the traffic which made use of the road regularly.

Yurin repeated the man’s words, as he flinched under his mistress’ gaze, “He says there’s smoke ahead.”

Snarling and wrapping her hand around her sword Raveres dug her heels in and drove forwards, cutting off the road in a direct line towards where the man had pointed.

Following her example the men all drew steel and followed her.

The she-elf’s mind was racing as she eagerly mounted the crest of dune which was obscuring their view.

The Druchii’s eyes twitched as she beheld dismounted riders nestled around an oasis.

There were easily ten men resting themselves and their horses around the watering hole.

Yet Raveres wasn’t about to ask questions politely, or wait until they saw her. Holding her black-steel longsword above her head she let out a war cry and barreled down the side of the dune towards the rough men.

_“Sa’an’ishar!”_

The men at her command let loose with their own war cries and hollers. Even Yurin, at the back of the line, let out a scream of anxiousness, the longer of his two swords held highly in the air.

The men around the oasis began swearing or exclaiming in confusion and surprise at the sudden attack.

Readying themselves to fight they began a rough melee.

Raveres, the first into the fray, screamed like a banshee and cleaved a man’s face off at her first pass through.

Rounding herself and turning she began running through the men as they spun around not knowing which foe on horseback to engage first.

Trampling a man she let out a loud moan of satisfaction when she heard his screams muted by the horse’s hooves across his skull.

Screaming and slashing on her left side she felled another man, and she let out yells of satisfaction as the men who’d followed her skillfully slaughtered the rest of the brigands.

It was over faster than she would have liked yet there was entertainment yet;

“Yurin! Don’t let that man escape!” Pointing with her sword she indicated one of the few men to have mounted his horse; he’d slapped and kicked his beast to bear him tearing away from the oasis and back on the road.

Yurin had only slashed with token effort at some men, but he knew from her expression she meant he was to kill him.

Gulping and feeling his lower abdomen tighten with a cold numbness he nodded, pursing his lips and turning his horse to follow after the escapee.

His face was red and he was breathing heavily under his light armour but Yurin’s horse easily caught up to the weighed down and exhausted mount that the mercenary was atop.

With a pained cry Yurin brought his arm up and swung towards the man.

They were closing the distance and he didn’t expect his blade to actually connect, but the steel found its mark.

The man let out a howl of pain as Yurin’s weapon slit through the man’s tunic and opened a deep gash down his left shoulder.

Turning and staring daggers at him Yurin quickly parried the man’s obvious counter attack.

With an ease which surprised him, the bookish, erudite, translator, drove his sword into the man’s chest, sending him toppling from the saddle to the road below.

Pulling on his reins Yurin’s horse came to a stop and he rode around to look at the man he’d killed.

The man had a pained and surprised expression on his face as he twitched and gasped his last.

His face was marred by brutal scars and thief brandings. His facial hair was a patchwork of ugly curling hairs amidst all his smooth scar tissue. His scalp’s hair was thinning and kept short, yet he had a knot tied at the back made of his longest strands.

Yurin stared, his mouth open as he panted, at his first kill.

He felt like being sick.

He didn’t like it, and he stared off his horse at the man dead in the sand below his feet.

His blade was stained red with fresh blood.

But he wasn’t able to stare and observe the corpse for long.

Raveres cried his name and he snapped back to the present.

Riding his horse back to the oasis he saw that the Druchii had yet another man at her mercy…

“Ask him where the knights are!”

Yurin nodded uneasily, still not having caught his breath.

He asked first in Arabyan, but the man shook his head and responded in Bretonnian.

Furrowing his brow Yurin made the switch, “Where are the knights who borne you? Your patrons! Where have they fled?”

The man coughed as Raveres held his collar and dug her sword’s tip into his flesh.

“Into the d-desert… You’ll never find them…” he laughed nervously as he eyed Raveres.

She stared unblinkingly into his face, rage barely contained behind her features.

Yurin relayed the information and her lip twitched before she spoke.

“My lady says that she will provide you with pain beyond imagining if you do not tell her where they’ve fled.”

After this Yurin added rather candidly his own advice, “She’ll flay you living or rip off your manhood; I swear by the gods… you should tell her what she wishes to hear.”

The man pursed his bloodstained lips and spat at Raveres’ face.

“Tell the knife-eared cunt she can rot in hell! I am a man of the Haridah Mercenary Company! I will not break!”

Yurin’s eyes widened as Raveres let go of the man and recoiled from the spittle and mucous on her face.

Even the men still atop their horses cringed.

With a swift kick Raveres hit the man across the abdomen and he keeled downwards in pain.

Her voice was metallic and filled with pure sadistic malice.

“Tell the men to make a camp here, steal from the dead, rest the horses. We’ll be a while.”

Yurin shivered as he relayed the order.

The men immediately set towards searching the bodies and making themselves a temporary refuge.

…

Sitting with several of the men around the mercenary’s fire Yurin stared into the coals, telling himself what he’d whisper after every ‘break’ in questioning.

‘Not again… I’m not going over there again…’

At first the riders jeered and took a perverse entertainment from what Raveres was doing, but now, sitting around the fire, filling their water skins in the clean oasis, or rubbing their horses’ necks, even the most veteran among them was growing uneasy at the noise.

Finally, like a dreadful war horn, he heard his name, summoned to be the master of tongues once more.

“ _Yurin!_ I think he wishes to speak now.”

Gulping and wearily coming to his feet Yurin stood and the riders looked to him with pity in their expressions.

Stepping away from his seat beside the fire he walked out of the bowl around the oasis and behind the small shrubbery where Raveres had dragged the man.

She’d taken off her gauntlets and vambraces, and now she had even removed her cuirass.

Her shoulders and face were clearly sunburnt now and her pale flesh was reddened by more than just her emotion.

Her bandage covered chest heaved as she panted. Using a section of the man’s torn tunic she was wiping blood from her right hand, her left was still bandaged, though he could see that her sweat had made the cloth begin to come free.

Pointing over her shoulder she indicated where her prey was.

“There…” she huffed, “As I said… I think he’s ready to talk now.”

Yurin hesitated before finally looking over at the whimpering and moaning mess that the mercenary had become.

She’d broken both his arms, stripped him naked, and tied him to the broken trunk of a long dead, and dried out palm tree.

But that was how he looked earlier.

Yurin felt a shudder of terror before he had to look away.

The man’s chest was covered in deep cross marks from where she just began hacking off sections of flesh. She’d cut across his forehead and pulled down some of his skin making his face an absolute mess of dried and still flowing blood.

At the man’s feet lay the tips of all ten of his fingers and large cleaved chunks of his chest’s flesh.

Turning away from the man and back to his master Yurin looked at her with pleading fear, she too was marred in gore; blood was freckled across her face and splattered up both her arms

Raveres threw the scrap of tunic to her side as she stepped towards her retainer,

“Same questions as before,” her voice rose, “You should know them as well as he does by now.” She chuckled breathily before sitting on the slope of the dune and taking a swig of one of the dead men’s water skins.

Yurin stepped closer to the man and cleared his throat, “So… You know what I’m to ask?”

The man lolled his head and nodded weakly, his throat raspy and dry from his screaming, “Y-yes… I’ll tell you where they are… n-no… where they’re going.”

Raveres swallowed a mouthful of water before standing from her seat and walking towards the man.

“Amidst the desert, there… there lies a rock… A… a big one… beside it is a…” he coughed and let out crying winces of pain. “…tomb… and great columns…”

Raveres lowered to a squat and stared at the man intensely.

“That’s where… Haridah takes us, that’s where the knights will surely be… I know it.”

Yurin repeated the information into Druhir and Raveres raised her chin, “He’s sure of this? What are these ruins called?”

The man nodded weakly, “Water… please…”

“What are they called?”

He shook his head, “nameless… it’s a… t-tomb…”

Yurin’s eyes widened, “M-my lady, it may be a ruin of Nehekhara…”

Furrowing her brow Raveres looked at her retainer, “What is this?”

The young man shook his head, “You’ve never heard of the land of the dead? The… the land of Khemri? The… The Tomb Kings?”

His voice lowered as he spoke, almost superstitiously, yet Raveres showed no signs of any recollection of such a place.

“They… they say they come out of their tombs and pyramids, once great men, now commanding legions of skeleton warriors.”

The she-elf furrowed her brow, “You may give me a lesson later if you wish, but right now, focus. What is this place and where can we find it?”

The man coughed and struggled to speak amidst the searing pain, “Nearly a hundred miles from here… Along the road to the ruins of Bel-Aliad…”

Yurin repeated the words and Raveres growled with incredulity as she stood back up.

“Over a hundred miles? That’s three days of travel across what looks to me like endless desert…” she shook her head, “He lies.”

Yurin gulped in disbelief, ‘Surely the sun has made her mad… t-the loss of the knight? Any of this! He’s not lying! _Why would he?_ ’

Looking at his master he shivered, “M-my lady… he’s obviously telling the truth-“

Giving Yurin a lethal glance she shook her head again, “Say it to him, _now_.”

He spoke in Bretonnian to the man, “She… she doesn’t believe you.”

The mercenary shuddered and began wailing.

Yurin had to try and be merciful and he lowered, “Please… tell me, is it true?!”

Raveres furrowed her brow, “Yurin! Quiet!”

The man continued to weep, and protested, “I’m telling the truth!”

“My lady, he swears it to be true! Please, show _mercy!_ ”

Raveres paused and tilted her head.

“Tell him I will castrate him, slit his tendons, and leave him in this desert as _mercy,_ and he’ll have you to thank for it.”

Yurin began a staring contest with his master before finally speaking to the prisoner, “Please… you have no idea what else she’ll do to you… I’m trying to help you. Is that information correct?”

The man’s swollen face looked up and he met Yurin’s eye.

Nervously he looked at Raveres as she took another swig of water.

Yurin’s voice cracked as he began pleading, “Look… s-she’ll… you don’t want to know what she’s going to do… please, for your own sake! I’m begging you!”

The man shuddered and averted his eyes to the ground, “Past the city of Martek… amidst the mountains, a day’s journey from here… Are the ruins…”

Yurin let out a heavy breath as he repeated the information.

Nodding Raveres descended and took the man’s chin in her hands, “Now… Was that so hard?”

Yurin stepped up and away from his master as she began helping the nozzle of the water skin to the wounded man’s lips.

The retainer shook his head in utter disbelief at the Druchii as she spoke lowly, “I knew he was lying Yurin.”

Dropping the water skin to the ground the man made a sound of protest as he tried following it with his mouth.

“Now how many men are there?”

The man nodded his head towards the water skin, “W-water please…”

“Numbers first, water later.”

Yurin repeated the question, and the man’s answer,

“Nearly twenty men, along with the knights…”

The Druchii nodded, “Give him some water Yurin. He’ll appreciate it more coming from you.”

Rising to her feet Raveres stepped aside as the retainer stepped forwards.

Lowering to pick up the skin he began helping it to the man’s lips while the she-elf stepped around the palm trunk.

Yurin barely had time to react when she drew her sword and brought it down across the man’s neck.

Letting out a scream the retainer fell backwards in horror as the decapitated head flew forwards.

Kicking himself backwards he brought his hands to cover his eyes as he began losing his breath and screaming madly.

Sheathing her sword and walking back to her armour Raveres waited about a minute before speaking,

“Tell the men where we’re headed and to fill their skins. If they’ve not eaten tell them I’ll wait a half-hour. No more.”

Yurin began crying as he struggled away from the dull-eyed head. Water and blood were pooling into the sand from his open throat, and he seemed to stare hopelessly towards him.

“M-my lady, p-please…”

Striding over the sand and grass Raveres reached forwards and brought Yurin to his feet by his neck, “I _gave_ him mercy you fool!”

Her lip snarled and she held back, “You knew of my people, you knew what I was when you swore yourself to me.”

Smirking hollowly Raveres continued, “Do not so think I am remiss in my favour or in my actions.”

Shuddering and struggling under her grip the young man faltered, and she continued, “Look upon me Yurin! I am a woman, _wounded,_ and alone among men in an alien country.”

“I have no further room for mercy, or for softness.”

Bringing herself close to his face she grit her teeth and lowered her voice, “I can ill afford it. And I will _never_ be in a position as I was at the beginning of my journey. _Do. You. Understand. me?_ ”

Yurin choked on his words as he nodded.

Throwing her retainer back to the ground Raveres licked her teeth before spitting to her side.

“Good. Now stand up and tell the men.”

…


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Summary: Raveres makes good on her vows, Jacque invokes his father, and the Naguii court faces an insulting truth

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Twenty

Though they passed the city of Martek Raveres and her men trudged onwards, not wanting to waste any more time, or give the enemy any further advantage she forbid them from resting at the city.

Despite some protesting that the mercenaries could have fled there, she seemed bent on following the dead man’s information and a quiet glare from the now sunburnt elf killed any dissent.

So they passed the visibly bustling city… Bearing the colours and insignia of Al Daouk, and as they were uninvited, began trespassing into another Emir’s lands.

Avoiding the road, they cut across country, amidst goat paths and grazing trails trod among the rocky and dry-grass hills.

After passing from under the eyes of the gleaming towers and minarets of Martek and travelling along the rocky edges of the Atalan Mountains they eventually saw some of the stones and carved remnants of the ruins the man spoke of.

The ruins were distinctly un-Arabyan… and unlike anything Raveres had seen before.

Yet she was not an Asur prince on a gap-year world tour…

She was not here to admire the history of quaint human cultures, or to smirk at their petty achievements.

She was there for one reason…

Dismounting she pointed to two men as well as Yurin, indicating they were to follow her. Wordlessly they too dismounted to follow her on foot.

Using the large stones and broken columns as cover the four got closer towards the once grand entrance to the repurposed tomb.

Lying down along the edge of a rocky dune Raveres peered at their foe.

An improvised stable had been constructed between two felled colossus, made of scrap wood and thatch roofing, the four hidden attackers saw the flanks of several horses enjoying the shade and coolness of their stalls.

Nestled here and there were several sentries guarding and keeping watch on the general approach. They had bows, and one appeared to have a repeater crossbow.

She pursed her lips and waved the other men to come along the edge of the hill and see as well.

‘They’re going to be problem.’ The she-elf thought.

“Well Yurin ask them what they think.”

The translator looked at his master and nodded, his voice sounded low and almost dejected as he relayed the question.

The two cavalrymen spoke with one another, occasionally pointing their fingers and whispering.

“They say that if we split our number, have half ride from the south and the rest of us attack from the north we should be able to catch them surprised…”

Raveres dry lips pursed as she squinted back at the patrolling sentries.

Smirking she shook her head. “Maybe…”

Then like a flash her eyes widened and she smirked as she received inspiration, “We’re back to the men; I’ve a ruse in mind.”

…

Tying herself to her horse and effectively looking like she’d died in the saddle Raveres struggled as she directed her mount over the uneven ground towards the tomb’s entrance.

At once she was spotted by the sentries and she couldn’t help but grin when she began to hear them cry out in announcement, no doubt rousing the rest of their men.

Watching from among the rocks Yurin tightly held his reins, nervously glancing to the men at either side.

They had one by one quietly ridden their steeds in and among the rocks north of the tomb, and the translator were hoping that they hadn’t yet been spotted.

Their success hinged on the attention being focused on Raveres.

And from here, with her hair blowing wildly and her body leaning listlessly, Yurin had to agree she did look as close to dead as possible.

The sentries slowly began approaching, their bows drawn, and one stepped towards her as more men came out into view from the tomb’s entrance.

They pointed and were shouting, but it was too indistinct and far away for Yurin to understand.

He couldn’t help but cringe in fear as a man, weapon drawn, approached his unconscious looking master.

Whispering under his breath the retainer thought aloud, “Come on… they haven’t come far enough out of the tomb yet… we can’t reach them…”

A few stood at the edge of the tomb’s high rock wall, standing in the comfortable shade and pointing to their mysterious rider.

The man had finally gotten within sword’s distance of Raveres.

“Come on!” Yurin whispered.

The Emir’s men all looked at one another and then the retainer uneasily, “Shall we ride now?” one asked.

“No they’re too close to the rock wall; our mounted advantage will count for nothing!”

Yurin looked around him as the men began anxiously arguing on whether or not to move.

…

“Oi cunt! Those fucking pricks are gaining on us!” Tanner cried.

“Aye!” Agreed the club wielding slaver.

Tanner shook his head and twitched in his seat, “Fucking hell we should have stayed with the rest of the company and gone to the tomb!”

Grumbling Slinger pointed ahead, “Look, riders from Al-Haikk! All we have to do is reach them and then these men at our back will have no choice but to cease!”

Whipping the reins of the four horse cart which held much of their cargo the mercenaries and scoundrels doubled their pace, some being bucked off their horses for riding the beasts too hard.

Passing down the dunes at their aft was the brightly coloured orange and turquoise troops of Al-Daouk. Their scimitars, spears, and banners held highly in the air.

The master of horse and Prince Balik had made time, cutting through paths that only their men knew.

Heavily bruised and coming to Jacque awoke lying in the arms of a woman in the back of one of the many carts stolen by the raiders.

“W-wha…” he asked weakly.

“Shush child…” the woman spoke.

Her face was covered in a wide bruise which had swollen her lip and cheek, yet she smiled down at the young man with a genuine happiness.

“I’m glad you awoke… They really gave you a beating last night.”

Jacque nodded. His hands were bound now, and the cart was rattling disconcertingly, its nails and wooden pegs were not meant for such hard riding.

Their cart was one of the least populated ones.

The attempt at enslaving citizens and people in Al-Daouk was not as easy as the raiders had hoped. Many had escaped and now about half of their ‘stock’ remained. Those who had fought back were beaten brutally.

And everyone was bound around their legs, and wrists.

The majority of those captured who remained were children or women.

The men in some of the carts were either dead from their wounds, or on their way. Having fought back against their captors they bore worse wounds than simple broken lips or cracked ribs.

“W-where are we?” Jacque asked weakly, trying to rise from the woman’s lap.

His neck and abdomen burned with pain and he reluctantly fell back to her thighs.

She rubbed the edge of his face and brushed his bangs from his eyes, “I know not… but… there are riders on our tail. I do not imagine they are friendly to our captors.”

Jacque furrowed his brow as he tried to look up at his comforter.

The sun was obscuring a good look of her face, but there was something strange about her voice… and her pronunciation. It was lyrical and sing song, high pitched and foreign with a hint of refinement.

Bringing his hand up weakly to shade his eyes and brow from the sun Jacque got his first look at the woman holding him. She was looking behind them at the men whipping and driving the cart.

She had almond shaped mono lid eyes… with a round facial structure he’d never seen before. Her cheeks were freckled and she had long black hair, cut straight across her brow. Her skin was tanned from the sunlight, and it was a shade he’d never seen either.

His eyes widened and he gawked before finally asking, “W-who are you?”

She looked back down at him and smiled, she bowed her head and closed her eyes, “You can call me Shen, little Breton.”

He looked at the others in their cart, some street urchin children clutched one another fearfully to his right, black dressed widows and a few young male and female stall keepers sat beside one another, they still were wearing the aprons of their respective professions.

There was a dirt covered grocer, a blood marred fishmonger or butcher, a dust covered carpenter’s apprentice.

‘Not exactly prime slave material.’ Jacque thought.

Then with a swirl he noticed what she had said, “I-I’m not little!” he protested.

Weakly he rolled from her thighs and she watched as he forced himself to rise into a sit.

“I…” he looked at her bruised face, and cleared his throat, fighting off his embarrassment and grief, “I am Jacque Le Tours, squire to the knight, Sir Jean Le Tours.”

He rose with pride and his chest swelled.

She smiled; it curved from the raised bruising of her lip. Her eyes crinkled and she nodded before deeply bowing.

“We are pleased to meet you Master Tours.”

He kept from an innocent smile before asking, “How do you know my tongue?”

Rising back up from her bow the plain clothed oriental woman raised a thin eyebrow, “Already into the questions young master?”

She shook her head, “If you know how to fight, I would suggest you instead steel yourself. Perhaps we might speak later.”

Jacque furrowed his brow and swayed as the cart went over a bump.

“What do you mean?”

She pointed past the squire and he narrowed his eyes to see in the distance the growing dust cloud and shapes of the approaching cavalry.

“The Emir’s sent men for his people.”

Jacque smiled and resisted the urge to wave.

The woman continued, “Yet I have no intention of going back there.”

Jacque looked back to his mysterious companion, “What?”

She raised her brow and smirked, “I misspoke, but I am due to go home.”

‘Where would that be?’ the youth wondered.

“As am I…” he said rather forlornly, “or rather, I was.”

Shen appeared as if she was going to say something reassuring when one of the drivers of their cart, a tanned and shirtless Arabyan, turned and brought his horsewhip down indiscriminately into the cart-bed, hitting Jacque, Shen, and even a few of the urchins.

“Shut up back there!” the man roared in Arabyan.

Jacque narrowed his brow and grit his teeth, regarding the back of the man’s head with rage.

Shen appeared to bear her wounded back with a quiet grace.

She extended her hand to touch Jacque and she whispered, “Be still.”

Moving her left hand under her knee she brought into view a thin, needle-like, piece of metal.

At once Jacque’s eyes widened and he cooled; he knew exactly what was going to happen.

…

Raveres’ horse had stopped at the cooing and ‘woah-ing’ of the man now approaching her.

His boots trudged through the thick sand as he got closer, his voice even and calm as he asked questions.

Whether he was asking her or the horse she didn’t know, nor care.

She had to maintain her act just a few moments longer.

The man finally let go of the tension on his bow and she heard him un-knock his arrow and shift it into the same hand as his bow.

Then she saw his shadow get closer to her and his hand extend.

_Now_

With a growl and a scream she sat up in the saddle and drew her sword.

The sudden movement made the horse whinny and cry in surprise.

The man stepped back, his face one of terror as he tried to re-knock his missile.

Bringing her blade down she cut along his face while also knocking his weapon from his hands, then, before he could react, she set in her spurs and knocked him down with her horse.

_‘Sa’an’ishar!_ ’ she cried.

Yurin and the men watching nodded and set forwards as he let out a yell, “That’s it! _Charge ‘em!”_

The men hooted, ululated, and hollered as they came tearing out from amongst the rocks and broken columns.

The archers and crossbowman began firing at Raveres while the men who had come out of the tomb were now caught somewhat in the open. They’d attempted to charge out to meet the she-elf, but now they were in between where she was and the safety of the tomb’s doorway.

Moving her head down an arrow passed by Raveres’ face, nearly grazing her ear, the second lodged in the leather of the saddle, a third deflected off her pauldron, while the fourth projectile; a crossbow bolt, found its mark and hit in between her pauldron and cuirass.

She didn’t even register that it had hit and drove on towards the archers, making them scatter as she began to cut her sword through the air.

The archers attempted to harass her like skirmishers, but she was roaring and working her horse around like she was a steppe warrior. In addition Yurin and the other riders had collided with those men on foot and in the open and joined battle.

“Kill them all!” she screamed.

Yurin desperately wielding his sword was too focused to relay her words to the Arabyans, but… they didn’t need a translation.

They all had a rough idea what their impromptu commander was saying.

Slashing upwards she felled another archer.

Yet a sudden _thwack_ stole her attention. A burning and piercing pain began to radiate from her left shoulder blade. Raveres tried moving her left arm but could only move it a few inches before the pain and a strange weight stopped her motion.

She reared her horse around to see the crossbowman rapidly reloading.

Leveling her sword she ignored the battle going on around her as she focused and began riding down the man.

He let out a guttural yell as she drew closer and he fired his hastily loaded bolt.

The black plumed missile flew towards her and grazed the right side of her neck.

Her steed whinnied and brought its legs up as it rose on its hind quarters.

Hoof and blade came down upon the man and he tried to roll out of the way.

He avoided the sword, but the hooves found their mark.

…

The mercenaries quickly realised that fighting in the open and scattered was to their disadvantage.

The wiser among them began to back up towards the tomb, while the more panicked tried to flee.

Those backing towards the tomb formed a line, side by side, as they started being pushed through the large entrance.

Raveres grit her teeth and spat in frustration. She felt like she was burning all over… Her eyes hurt from the wind blowing sand, her cheeks and face pained with every breath, her brow with every blink…

And her neck ached in a way she’d never known with every turn of her head.

But the arrows which had penetrated her armour stung more… and they filled her with a pain and dread.

A few of her men’s horses were beginning to run away from the battle, their riders having fallen from their saddles.

Her retainer still drew breath.

And more than that, he was still mounted, and at the moment wrestling a spear from a man on foot.

Kicking her spurs into her beast she drove forwards and felled the man attempting to skewer Yurin.

Cutting the man’s left arm off and then kicking him over she growled, “I’ve not seen the knights. Do you think we’ve been lied to?”

Yurin turned the spear around before driving it down into its previous owner’s chest.

Sputtering and coughing on dust the translator shook his head, “I… I know not my lady…”

Snarling and lifting her leg over her horses’ head Raveres slid down the side of the beast swapping her sword to her left hand, pulling the arrow in her front out with a scream of pain.

With half-baked thoughts she looked around before settling her eye on the fighting at the tomb’s entrance.

“Perhaps they’re holed up in that tomb…” she smirked through her pain, “How _fitting_.”

She half spoke to Yurin and half thought aloud as she started up a quick pace towards the asses of her men’s horses, now thoroughly engaged with the mercenaries in the doorway.

At the top of her lungs Raveres cried, “ _Khaine!”_ as she drove towards the men and their informal offensive line.

Several of the mercenaries broke and ran into the tomb; those that remained were distracted by the Druchii jumping at them, and were easily dispatched by the mounted Emir’s cavalry.

Before charging after the men into the tomb Raveres looked back and waved to her retainer, “Yurin!”

He begrudgingly climbed down from his horse and several of the cavalry followed.

The tomb’s entrance way was elaborately decorated with hieroglyphs and once brilliantly painted murals, now blackened from torch light and decayed from the moisture in man’s breath.

Sconces and improvised standing torches burned brightly, and though they reddened and helped illuminate the stone mausoleum, nothing but sunlight would ever make it look anything other than somewhere the living was not to tread.

The mercenaries had speedily run ahead of them and disappeared from view as the entranceway tilted and became a sloped staircase deeper into the earth. Raveres and her men slowed down as they stepped into the gloomy sandstone hallway. They were looking around cautiously, their weapons poised and eyes narrowed.

Peering over the edge of the landing the Druchii could see that refuse and discarded garbage from the mercenaries lined either side of the wide stairwell. Obviously the men had made the sepulchre their home for quite a while now.

Stepping down the short staircase they came to a low ceilinged juncture with three doors

The chamber to their right had wooden tables and benches resembling a mess hall, while the chamber to their left had poorly constructed bedframes, and sleeping rolls strewn about its floor.

The doorway immediately in front of them was closed. Thick wooden doors, of modern construction, looked at them almost mockingly.

After a few seconds all they could hear in the chamber was their own breathing and the occasional moan of the wind.

Flicking her blood covered sword and then wiping it off on the edge of her blouse, Raveres sheathed her weapon and turned to Yurin, “We’re going to need a ram.”

…

“One, two, three!”

Raveres, the men, and Yurin hefted their wooden beam towards the door again hearing the satisfying crunching of the splitting boards.

“ _Again!”_ The Druchii roared.

They brought the beam forwards and it began cracking deeper through the panels of the anti-chamber’s door.

Yelling and curses could be heard on the other side which only helped to spur Raveres on.

_“AGAIN!”_ she cried madly.

As they sprinted towards the door and the edge of their ram made contact the forced either side of the portal open.

The men, Yurin included, howled with triumph as they speedily forced through the breach.

Then she saw them…

The knights…

There was a large imposing Arabyan man on the left side of the room, his surviving mercenaries were flanking him, while on the right side stood the two knights, and every man was panting.

Their weapons were drawn and a few dead men were strewn about the floor.

Manifestly there had been dissention in the ranks.

The Arabyans filed into the room and made a line across the doorway, eyeing each man with furrowed brows and bared teeth.

Raveres stepped into the middle of her men and drew her sword, pointing it at the two Bretonnian knights, “Where is the _BOY?!_ ”

Sir Finise was nursing a wound in his right arm, and his helmet had been cracked in across the visor from a dull smashing weapon.

Sir Tormande however was almost spotless. Meeting Raveres’ eye he reached with his left hand to pull off his full helm. Letting it fall to the stone floor with a metallic whack he stared at the Druchii and tightened his grip on his sword.

Bearing his teeth in a hideous smile he let out a sigh, “Oh you elven bitch… I’ve longed for this.”

“Yurin, the men can take care of the mercenaries… these knights are mine.”

Stepping past her men and towards the two Bretonnians Raveres lowered herself into a dueling stance before repeating her question, “Where, is the fucking _squire!”_

Tormande spat and stepped forwards as Sir Finise faltered and staggered to the side, his wounds and battle fatigue seeming to have gotten to him.

Leaning against the wall the false knight drooped and slid against the stone, scratching and ruining his armour as he fell to the floor.

Sir Tormande ignored his fallen comrade, madly focused on the elf.

“I killed that old bastard, and I relished each second of it.”

Raveres’ lip moved up involuntarily as she wanted to snarl, but she bit her tongue and remained in control.

“Where is the squire…”

Tormande laughed.

“The old man fought like a geriatric…” cocking an eyebrow he looked at her and continued, his voice rising spitefully, “I wonder; did he fuck you like one too?”

At this the Druchii snapped, her voice rising like venom and bile;

“Before I stuff your cock and balls down your own _throat!_ I will ask you, one _last fucking time, WHERE IS MY BOY?”_

Tormande brought his sword high and lunged forwards as he brought it down.

Letting out a grunt and battle cry Raveres brought her blade up to block and the two became uncomfortably close to one another.

Before she could fully commit to combat he snarled viciously and answered her.

“I killed _your_ boy!”

Raveres mouth opened and her eyes widened for a second before she screamed and pushed back.

Yurin yelled out as he looked on, “Mistress! My lady _, NO!”_

Slashing widely Tormande jumped back and continued to verbally torture Raveres as they dueled.

“I bent his little head back, and I stuffed my cock, down _his throat!_ ”

Letting out a cry as if she were a wounded Raveres feinted and then brought her sword up, moving from dueling position two to dueling position five rapidly.

The movement made Tormande misjudge his defence.

She slashed under his armoured arm, causing him to miss with his riposte, and cry out in pain.

Disengaging and beating his blade for good measure Raveres repositioned and brought her sword up over her head.

She cried aloud as her voice nearly broke, “You lie!”

Bringing his blade up to catch hers the knight used his gauntleted hand to take hold of her blade and keep it still.

“Look over there and see his body!”

Leaning forwards for emphasis, Tormande could barely contain his satisfied face at Raveres’ expression, “I took his head off after he bit me, and I threw it outside to the vultures… Didn’t you see those birds overhead?”

Looking to the side that he had indicated she saw a flash of nude flesh, motionless on the floor of the tomb, against the wall. At first she had assumed it to be yet another body from when the mercenaries and knights had turned on each other.

Delirious from the heat, made mad from the blood and battle, Raveres did not need to take a long look at the corpse before she utterly broke.

Before her eyes looked back at her foe her body had already committed itself to ending the duel.

Pushing off the ground with all her strength Raveres smashed her brow into Tormande’s face, breaking his nose and forcing him backwards.

Reeling backwards and letting a deep groan of pain out the knight was stunned enough that she was able to make a final blow.

Readying her blade and letting loose a loud emotional wail she aimed the tip of her sword and forced all of her weight behind it. The tip pierced through Tormande’s chest and Raveres drove the length of her black steel sword through the knight’s armour it broke loudly through the other side of his cuirass.

Coughing onto Raveres’ shoulder and grunting Tormande sputtered in complete surprise as she forced him to the ground.

His eyes widened in disbelief as his body shook and pain numbed his tongue. Coughing and sputtering blood down his chin and masculine features he looked up, utterly aghast that the woman had gotten the better of him.

His nose was running like a faucet of blood and Raveres snarled as she screamed.

Bringing her foot up to his chest she kicked his plate and tore her sword back out of him.

Before he fell backwards she readied and brought the blade swinging across to decapitate him.

Colliding with his bottom jaw first, rather than his neck, caused the cut to be uneven and brutalised.

Falling to the side Tormande retched and screamed in pain, the job only ‘half’ done.

Resetting herself and bringing her blade high over her head Raveres let out a wail of pain and loss as she brought the sword down and finished the knight’s execution, ending his horrid and grotesque scream.

Looking towards the star-painted ceiling Raveres became mute, and her face wearily blank, with only her exasperated breathing showing signs of life.

The whole time she’d fought Tormande, she was lost in another world, yet behind her the Emir’s men had combatted with the other mercenaries. Unfortunately the cornered raiders had put up a far tougher fight, and they’d killed a few of her men, Yurin even received a few injuries himself.

But now, with it all concluded, the Emir’s men began checking their dead while Yurin walked towards his mistress slowly, nursing his wounded side.

“Lady Raveres?” he groaned.

She ignored him and slowly walked towards the body that Tormande had indicated.

It was indeed the corpse of a young man. He was thin, and dirty, his skin marred in cuts and bruises.

His ribs showed through his thin pale skin and his arms were tanned from the sun’s light. His head had been removed and only a red and blue, bloodied stump remained.

His knuckles and hands were covered in wounds and scrapes from fighting and his wrists were bound…

In shock Raveres blinked slowly and moved, as if she were drunk, pivoting around to see the fallen body of Sir Finise.

Stepping over towards the last knight she kicked at him before descending and ripping up his visor covered helmet. Like she was underwater she could hear Yurin and the men, but… everything was distant to her and muffled.

Sir Finise was still alive, but weakly looking up at her, his blood covered face making token protests as she once again readied her executioners blade and brought it down. He tried raising his hands to defend himself, but she kicked them out of the way.

To Yurin and the men Finise’s high pitched maddened cries were almost entirely ignored, and as such his message to save his life passed unremarked.

When his gorget was cut through and his head removed Raveres stooped and took up yet another trophy, ripping it out from his helm and only barely looking at it before tossing it haphazardly towards Yurin.

Her voice was quiet as she took a long look at the body of the dead squire.

He was naked and mutilated, but all she could see was his innocent face looking up at her.

A pain greater than the arrows lodged in her body, the sunburns her face and exposed flesh, and even when she was thrown from her ship, began to wrap itself around her like a shroud.

Weakly she finally found her voice. Her throat hurt from her screams earlier, and each syllable grated on her vocal cords.

“Wrap the boy Yurin…”

The translator lowered his head as she slowly walked past him; she was dragging her sword across the floor absentmindedly,

“He deserved better…”

“But, my lady” Yurin tried to interject.

She repeated herself, obliviously ignoring him, “…the boy deserved better…

Her voice remained quiet and hollow as she stepped out of the tomb’s chamber and towards the stairs,

“Yurin… bring the heads, I’m presenting them to that ambassador…”

“I… of course my lady”

She was only a few feet out of the room, but Raveres was miles away.

…

Prince Balik raised his sword high as he and the Master of Horse let out a cry, a head of them it appeared that the enslaved peoples found courage to fight once more.

The Master of Horse yelled, “They need our aid! Men! _To battle!”_

His men echoed the cry with enthusiasm as they swept towards the raider’s train of carts.

…

“As a squire, you can fight. Correct?” Shen had beckoned Jacque to sit beside her and she whispered out the un-swollen side of her mouth.

He nodded while adding, “They’ve my sword though…”

She narrowed her eyes and looked around the men on horseback, or driving the other carts.

“Who was it that took your steel?” she asked in a hush.

Jacque looked from man to man till he saw the most loaded cart being driven by the Slinger, Clubman, and the thin thief.

He raised his chin and pointed with his head, indicating the middle man “The thin one…”

Shen smirked to herself.

Turning to Jacque she nodded, “I was hoping you were a fighter of some kind when they threw you in our cart…”

She brought her head nearer his ear and whispered, “This would have been far more difficult on my own.”

He nodded.

Looking past him and towards Emir Al-Daouk’s men they could hear their voices now over the sands.

Shen nodded, “Give me your hands.”

The occupants of the cart all looked on eagerly as the woman sawed through Jacque’s bonds.

Speedily Shen turned and freed the hands of each person close to her.

Readying her small weapon she looked back to Jacque and nodded, “Now.”

They stood and leapt towards the front of the cart, and those few tradesmen that Shen had freed eagerly followed. The whole cart erupted with yells and screams of protest and spite as the oriental woman brought down her weapon into the throat of the cart’s driver.

His co-driver received Jacque’s battering fists and the elbows and blows of the other freed men.

With triumphal yells they pushed the man forwards, off the cart, to fall into the road. He sailed through the air with a scream and the cart nearly flipped as it ran over his body.

The horses screamed and the reins almost fell from reach as Jacque leapt for them.

Shen stowed her needle-like weapon into her sash belt before drawing her dead man’s sword. Now armed, she kicked the driver’s twitching corpse from the bench and swiftly took up his seat, waving Jacque to follow, “Come Squire!”

“Take the blade and free the others, give me the reins!” He nodded and handed her the leather strap.

Turning round he gladly freed his companions.

By now the horse riding raiders had noticed what was transpiring and began aiming towards their cart. Yelling and pointing threateningly at their now escaping chattel.

With a mad smile Shen pulled the reins to the left and directed their cart to drive closer to the other one in the train.

Slinger and Club widened their eyes as they turned around. Their passengers were now fighting back as well.

“We’ve led an example Breton!” Shen cried happily.

Jacque readied the sword and narrowed his brow, yelling in agreement, “Aye!”

Uneasily he began rising higher as they came closer to the other cart.

Shen laughed and remarked, “You’re brave squire!”

Jacque however was miles away and hadn’t heard her.

His body burned with anger and desire.

He saw the thief draw _his_ sword from his belt.

‘That was a gift to me on my name day from Sir Jean…’

The young squire’s lip curled.

“I will not be afraid again…” he whispered.

Ahead of their cart the horses were whinnying and snorting in discontent, behind Jacque the people were crying and waving to the soldiers for rescue.

The air became filled with the din of arms now joined, yet Jacque could only focus on getting back his sword.

He shook with resolve and he pushed off the wooden seat with his boots. His mind now made up, as he yelled, “I will not be afraid again!”

Shen watched as Jacque sailed over head, jumping from their cart towards the other slave filled horse-drawn carriage.

With his sword raised high he yelled his battle cry, his voice proud and confident, “ _Sir Jean!”_

…

When Yurin and the men came to the surface he saw that Raveres had wandered out of the tomb in a straight line.

Her horse seemed to be looking at her incredulously.

She was almost a hundred yards away, simply staring forwards across the sandy dunes and rocky sea ahead of them.

“My lady!” Yurin cried.

She seemed to finally stop.

Slowly she turned her head around, looking at her retainer briefly before turning back towards the sea.

Yurin furrowed his brow, and pointed to the men, his voice quiet and pained as he clutched his wet side, “Well… we… we did what we came to do. Ready the horses.”

They nodded and set to their steeds.

One of the men, his face dirtied and scratched, asked hesitantly, “What about the boy?”

Yurin nodded and paused, “Tie him to my horse…”

Without any more words the retainer stepped after his mistress. Passing the stones from the fallen colossus he saw the shimmering steel of her weapon and furrowed his brow. She’d dropped her sword along the way.

Stopping he stooped and picked up the blood and gore covered weapon.

Slowing his pace as he approached her he quieted down, as he asked again “My lady?”

Coming along her side he finally saw her face.

Her skin was reddened from the sun’s touch, but her cheeks were blazing with the added colour of sorrow.

Her eyes were glistening and she held her dry, cracking, lips tightly pursed.

“Lady Raveres…”

Her sclera was bloodshot and her violet eyes searched across the horizon line.

She remained silent for a full minute, before Yurin offered back her sword.

Without moving her head or body she extended her left hand and took back the weapon. After sheathing it the two stood in quiet for several minutes before she spoke.

“When we return…” she exhaled and raised her chin slightly, “I wish for a cask of elvish wine to my chambers, I don’t care the cost.”

Her voice was hollow and as quiet and meek as the young man had ever heard her speak.

Yurin bowed his head, “That’s understandable…”

She looked out the corner of her eye at him and continued, her tone gaining a little more confidence, “These men are to be paid well, and you shall extend my gratitude to them for their aid.”

At this the retainer bowed again.

Her voice cooled, becoming even and calm as she began, “Additionally I want you to draught a letter to the ambassador for that Breton and one for the Duke himself as well. With this letter you shall deliver the heads of his knights, and their mercenaries.”

She paused, and held back a breath of spite.

“Tell them what his men have done, and tell them that the knight and squire they killed were distinct men of honour…”

Yurin was staring at the sand making mental notes before he rose to see that she was stopping herself from making any kind of emotional sound, and seemed to physically biting her tongue.

Her hands were balled into fists so tightly he could see her forearms shaking from tension.

But before it became any more awkward the retainer broke into the silence, “I will write everything necessary my lady… Fear not. I know what you would wish said.”

She shut her eyes and nodded once, appreciatively, as if a weight had been removed from her shoulders.

Watching her penitent face and her grief stricken body the retainer heard the words of the Breton knight, reminding him; ‘Look upon what she has wrought Yurin…’

She was wrathful and proud, and she was also full of spite. But… here, Yurin didn’t see that.

He saw a woman teetering on the edge of something…

When she opened her eyes she saw Yurin’s face and immediately steeled her expression, hiding the plain honesty she was bearing earlier.

Almost ashamed that he had seen her in such a way she brought her top lip up and drew in a sharp breath.

“As well, Yurin?”

He nodded, “Aye milady?”

She released her fists and brought her left hand up to point at him, “After we make our return, you will accompany me to the slave market.”

He furrowed his brow, “Milady?”

“In addition to wine I demand soft fingers.”

At this he swallowed nervously, “A-aye…”

Turning from gazing across the sand she began the walk back to their horses.

“I’ll need you to smooth things with Sadalsuud… Do whatever you need to do, _I don’t care!_ ”

Her voice began to rise in anger and Yurin immediately felt regretful for having seen her innocent expressions earlier.

Now she seemed to be doubling down to make up for the exposure in her figurative armour.

“I plan on getting drunk as much as the Dark Mother would allow, and I shall not be doing it alone.”

They were getting closer to the steeds and Yurin nodded in acknowledgement of the men, “Then we’re fucking leaving this sandy _hell_.”

She scoffed as she mounted her horse, “Jaylish…”

“The fucking lying _fool_ …”

Yurin furrowed his brow and risked a question, “Uh… whom might that be, milady?”

She drew her reins through her gauntlet and wrapped them around her hand as she snapped the horses’ head up to attention.

Shaking her head she sighed wearily, “Someone from a different time… a different place.”

She smirked, almost all pretention gone, “He loved me once…”

Yurin’s face widened in surprise as the party corralled the rider less horses into a train.

Setting off at a fair pace they began the long trek back to Al-Daouk.

Yurin blinked and looked at his master.

Raveres was looking down, and letting her horse follow the man in front of her, miles away.

Her smirk had faded and instead her features had wearied utterly, as she lowered and appeared indescribably morose.

Her skin was now looking utterly painful, and Yurin noticed.

She hadn’t yet removed the arrows from her body…

“Don’t those hurt?” he asked, pointing to the heft sticking from her armour.

Raveres cringed and let out a heavy breath of pain as she looked at the missile.

“No…” she lied.

Furrowing his brow he looked towards the men, and spoke in Arabyan, “Does anyone have a cloak I might give my mistress?”

The men looked at one another before one brought out a light brown rough spun riding hood.

“She’ll also be needing aloe oil.” one man said.

“By the amphora…” another added.

Yurin silenced the men with a narrow look as he took the offered cloak.

Turning back to Raveres he offered her the cloth, “Please my lady… before you fall ill from the sun.”

She shook her head, repeating, “I’m fine.”

“Please my lady.”

Switching to Arabyan, he announced, “Stop! We’re stopping and I need help to clean my master and set her wounds.”

The men, without question, halted their horses.

Raveres continued on a few steps before turning, “What is this? Yurin?”

The retainer began climbing down his horse, “My lady, there’s some shade over here by the cliffs, please let me address those wounds! You need some water and to cover your face, you’re going to die before we even reach the city!”

Her arm shivered and she eyed her men with sun-mad rage, “What? You do _not command me!_ ”

She turned her horse and her voice cracked as she faltered, the dark colour of her armour soaking up the unrelenting sunlight beating down across the desert.

“I am Raveres Morthai Naguii!”

Sweat ran down her face in thick drops as she stared back at Yurin.

The retainer furrowed his brow and implored, “My lady… please. Just this once.”

He motioned for her to dismount, and he held the cloak up.

She sat atop her horse for what seemed like an age, the men quietly eyeing her before she finally spoke again.

Her voice was low and once again as innocent as it was before finally admitting,

“It hurts Yurin…”

She shuddered and leaned forwards, “It feels like someone coated my flesh in pitch…”

Waving her down again he nodded, “I know my lady, we’ll get you out of that armour… Get you some water too.”

Turning to the nearest man he spoke in Arabyan, “Your water skin please.”

Without a moment of hesitation one of the cavalry men offered the retainer his full, perspiring leather skin.

Dismounting with a groan of pain Raveres began walking towards the place shaded by the cliffs that Yurin had indicated.

The Arabyan cavalry men quietly spoke among themselves, drinking from their own skins or searching the horizon as Yurin followed after his Druchii master.

…

“Prince Balik! Lead these people and protect them!” The Master of Horse cried.

Slashing a man across his chest and kicking his horse to bolt from under him Balik looked back to the captain and nodded.

“Here! People of Al-Daouk! Rally to me!” he raised his sword and waved it in a circle, hoping to catch the eyes of the people on foot.

One of the carts had upturned and now mercenaries, escaped slaves, and horses were running around in every direction.

Injured men and felled horses cried and writhed in the dust, orphan children wailed, and wounded widows too.

The whole of the mess was kicking up a storm of dirt from the road and masking the area in dust clouds.

…

“Little Breton!” Shen cried.

Having buried the blade of the scimitar into Tanner’s head Jacque stared at the corpse he’d made spitefully, before spitting and retrieving his short sword.

The oriental woman cried, “I’ve two horses! Now come!”

Around them mercenaries, escaped slaves, and Emir Sadalsuud’s men were fighting fiercely.

Panting and rising from the dead body Jacque looked towards his foreign companion.

She nodded her head, imploring him to move.

Since the cart had upended she’d scurried around the fallen and secured herself a sword of her own, the heavy crude steel blade hung awkwardly at her side, yet she wore it with rough familiarity.

The squire nodded and rose to his feet, jumping over the injured and fallen horses of the mercenary’s carriage.

She handed off the reins of one of the horses to him and nodded in approval as he took them up, the dry and cracking leather straps and saddle were old, but the horse was young and still full of energy, huffing and snorting with life.

Putting his foot into the horses’ stirrup he hefted himself atop the stout Arabyan pony. It was somewhat uncomfortable for the young squire, he was shaken from the carriage’s crash, and he had just taken life…

His whole body would have been shaking if he weren’t so focused at the moment and he nearly slipped off the saddle on his first jump.

He thought it was a small blessing to have mounted the beast at all…

His companion Shen, by contrast, skillfully leapt upwards like a dancer, easily wrapping her lithe legs around the saddle and resting herself atop the beast as naturally as if she were a steppe nomad.

Jacque furrowed his brow in surprise.

The woman smirked knowingly, before changing her expression, “Come now young squire, follow me!”

Pulling his reins Jacque furrowed his brow; he thought aloud, nearly protesting, “But…”

She turned her head her face confused, “But what?”

Around them the chaos continued and they began to hear the approaching shouts of the riders from Al-Haikk approaching the fray.

“Make your choice little knight!”

Shaking her head impatiently Shen let out a growl and put spur to flank, making her horse bolt across the sand.

Pausing to look around Jacque felt utterly lost.

The strange woman rode out of the dusty fighting and seemed bound towards the city of Al-Haikk.

He felt like he had no time, and as the men around him continued to fight he knew it was only a matter of seconds before someone spotted him and tried to fight him from his steed…

Dispite this he hastily thought, maddened and random ideas spurring through his head.

‘There’re ships in Al-Haikk… and, I mean, she seemed a friendly one? Perhaps… home to Bretonnia?’

Jacque cringed, ‘But… what of the she-elf? M-my horse? Sir Jean’s body?’

‘What if I went back?’

He looked behind him at the familiar colours of the Al-Daouk men, ‘I know the Emir… I know Raveres! I… I ought to continue being…’

He looked back towards the woman now speeding away through the dust, ‘She aided me! I… I ought to help her too!’

‘I can get her greater help than a commoner; she should come with _me_ to Al-Daouk!’

Ignoring his grief he focused on putting another before himself. Strangely enough it dissipated any fingers of pain in his chest, and he felt instead an encouraging voice.

‘Be knightly’

Furrowing his brow he dug into his horse, his mind and heart made up, “Wait! S-Shen!”

…

“I had a feeling that you’d be calling on me again before long…”

Krieta the Death Hag held down a cackle as Lady Naguii shot her a look.

“I’m having more visions witch… tell me. Why?”

Lord Titos stood to the side of the bed chamber, looking from woman to woman uneasily.

Lady Naguii continued, “I am seeing scenes, in my head… of…” she brought a hand to her temple and grumbled.

“Things which I understand-“

“And many which you do not.” Krieta finished.

The Hag nodded, “As I said to your servant girl, you saw something which you were not _meant_ to see, and which you were not _trained_ to see.”

Lady Naguii pursed her lips and let out a heavy breath.

The Death Hag smiled, “Though, I do not know what it is which you wish me to do?” her voice seemed eerily playful, quite disconnected to the overall tenseness of the situation.

Lady Naguii wanted to growl, but Titos beat her to it, “I want my wife recovered! And I want the visions explained!”

He folded his arms tightly, “Prophecy, and mist, and _horse shit!”_

The Death Hag narrowed her eyes and raised a blackened and filth covered finger to point at him, “You watch your blasphemous tongue, cur! I am a Bride of Khaine and you will remember to mind your tone when you speak to me.”

Before he could snarl and say something he’d regret Lady Naguii spoke scolding her husband, “Titos! My love… silence”

He raised a brow, somewhat betrayed by his wife to hear her speak thus in their bedchamber, in front of someone else.

Biting his tongue the former general looked down and ceded to his wife.

“I too wish to receive explanation… and I want an _end_ to the visions.”

Krieta looked at her ‘patron’ and sighed, raising a brow as she stepped forwards.

“I must send for one of my initiates… I doubt you are strong enough to travel to the temple.”

She smiled, her filed teeth showing off their impressive sharpness.

“Any home of Khaine’s faithful may do as a temple in my opinion…”

The Hag shot Titos a look, “I’ll need use of one of your household. Lest I waste more time by going there myself?”

The patriarch huffed and opened the bedchamber door, one of the ever present house runners sat at the edge of the doorway, his scrappy face looked up at his owner expectantly,

“Boy, fetch Crag.”

…

The dark skinned eunuch arrived up the stairs and Krieta told him all of what he was to say when he arrived to the temple.

In a short while the bald man returned with a cloaked and plucky wild-eyed initiate Death Hag.

What she lacked in wisdom and years she made up for in zealousness and enthusiasm.

Krieta looked at her apprentice with a sly smile, “Bring forth the implements.”

The younger ‘ _fiancé_ ’ of Khaine looked up at her superior and unslung her slave-skin satchel.

“Aye, my lady.” She replied eagerly.

Turning back to the lying Lady Naguii the Death Hag stepped forwards, “Now, tell me what all have you been seeing and hearing.”

The seasoned priestess smiled to herself as she neared the bed.

Lady Naguii looked from her husband to the hags.

Krieta looked at her apprentice and announced, “Oh there’s nothing to fear from Velicion’s lips.”

The apprentice nodded her head.

“She’d sooner _die_ …”

At this the younger Death Hag nodded again, even more enthusiastically, as if the prospect somehow excited her.

Lord Titos brought a fist to his mouth as he leaned against the wall.

Lady Naguii sighed and began, “Well then… so long as we’re all of one purpose here”

…

Lady Naguii inhaled the burning bowl of scents deeply, and Krieta the Death Hag began chanting lowly as her apprentice Velicion circled the room with handfuls of burning herbs and wild black-grass.

Titos watched on, pacing from side to side uncomfortably as the women went about yet another ritual.

His pace increased as he grew ever more uncomfortable.

“To the pits with this…” he mumbled in frustration.

“Hag, if anything should arise you will send for me.”

He met his wife’s gaze and the two shared a knowing glance.

The Dreadlord sighed as he left the dark room, uneasy to leave his wife he stood with his back leaning against the door.

Riccard stepped up the stairs to Titos’ side, he bowed his head, “Our men have secured the Kalinside docks, and there are other families beginning to take notice.”

Titos smirked.

‘It was begun now… prophecy or no he was going to be upsetting a lot of things today.’

“And the men we sent to Raykar’s estate?”

Riccard cleared his throat, “No word yet my lord.”

Titos nodded before he sighed and leant his head back against the door.

The moment of reprieve was ruined by the shrill high pitched screaming of his wife.

Riccard leapt forwards and Titos wheeled to rip open the door.

“What’s amiss?” he cried.

Kreita appeared dazed at the side of the bed, sitting on the floor, as Lady Naguii held a hand to her face and growled in rage, whispering to herself, “this cannot be… this cannot be…”

Standing in the doorway Titos furrowed his brow as his bearded barbarian bodyguard towered behind him.

“ _What happened?”_

Velicion looked towards the male Druchii, “M-my lady read the portents and drew your wife’s blood… I…”

She darted towards Krieta as the senior Death Hag rose to her feet. Waving off her apprentice and snarling she interrupted her, “It seems that-”

“Silence Velicion,” Grumbling and shaking her head from side to side, “Your plot against the Kalinsides, and your machinations to upset Blacklight tower.”

Titos’ eyes widened and he held his breath.

“How deeply are the wheels in turn?”

“Are you serious?”

Krieta raised a brow.

Titos scoffed and stepped into the room.

“I’ve men moving in three ways, my house guard has emptied and I’ve sent letters to my brother for his aid.”

He shook his head, “I have a Kalinside hostage under guard in my own home…”

He lowered his voice as he stepped forwards, “The wheels are inexorably in turn.”

Titos looked to his wife brow furrowed, “What is it you women saw?”

Lady Naguii grumbled and threw off her sheets as she stood.

“It seems…”

She snarled and her top lip shook as she spoke, “A little mischievous daemon decided to…”

Lady Naguii bit her tongue and started clutching her fists into the material.

Krieta let out a heavy breath and announced, “I must convene with my sisters… but, your wife is somewhat correct.”

She looked to Titos and cleared her throat, “What’s your son Malith up to by chances?”

He furrowed his brow, “A mission for the King, his legion is on campaign in the south. That’s all I know.” He furrowed his brow in confusion, and shook his head, “What does this have to do with anything?”

The Death Hag nodded to her apprentice, “Well… if what I saw as well as your wife is correct, then… Your son,” she smirked, “And our King, have let loose a daemon determined to-“

Titos raised his own hand to quiet the Hag.

“Determined to what? _Toy_ with my family? To set us maddeningly unto self-destruction?”

Riccard looked to his master with concern, and so did the two Death Hags.

Lady Naguii glanced up at her husband while groaning.

Krieta’s face hardened and she appeared insulted by Titos’ tone, “I do not presume to know the incomprehensible mind of a foul pretender god.”

“But I am determined to find out why it chose _my_ temple to sully.”

She mumbled under her breath, “It’s going to take a while to exercise the damned thing from our hallowed halls I’m sure…”

Titos shut his eyes and drew a long breath, “So…”

He opened them, and stared the Death Hag down intensely.

“The vague prophecy… The visions my wife received, it’s all been for this creatures’ own perverse entertainment?”

Krieta laughed, “Yes and no… From what _I_ saw… it’s blended truth and lie together.”

Her voice trailed off, “as they often do…”

Titos began a chuckle.

“I’m about to wipe out several members of a rival faction and absorb their holdings… because of this trick…”

His chuckle rose and Krieta furrowed her brow, raising a long black-nailed finger “There are no _tricks_ in religion!”

Velicion however looked on in eager approval, excited by the prospect of chaos and blood that Titos had mentioned.

Lady Naguii lowered her neck, embarrassed to have been made such a fool.

As Titos calmed himself down and sobered his wife finally spoke, “Then what shall become of my son? I saw both he and Raveres in my premonition and visions…”

Krieta turned and the two women met gazes.

“He’s my first born… You are no mother Hag. So you know not this pain…”

After a long bout of silence Lady Naguii finally asked again, begrudgingly, “What shall befall _my son?_ ”

…

Clutching the leather covered totem against his armoured abdomen, the Dreadlord Legate, Malith Aeneas Naguii rode at the fore of his marching column of troops.

A wry smile came across his handsome features; and he looked ahead as his men behind him blew horns and made good pacing as their mass of footfalls kept time.

Beside him rode his officers, loyal and dedicated killers all… Personally weeded out of lechers and treacherous snakes, they knew only two things; loyalty to their commander, and loyalty to their King.

Held just ahead of them were the legion’s standard; a great black-steel dragon, with wings extended and ruby eyes gazing down at all before it. Beside which was a banner bearing the dreaded symbol of Naggarond: A gilded gauntlet holding aloft an ivory crescent moon on a purple field.

Marching across country the victorious legion had succeeded in their mission, and now was eagerly returning along The Dark Road.

What was on the lips of nearly every man was the single word; _triumph_.

And Malith himself was staring ahead, feeling an excitement beyond words in his chest as he led his men home.

‘Triumph… the laurels and approving grace of the King…’ he fantasised about their entering the gates of Naggarond, thinking he could almost see the city on the horizon.

He envisioned himself passing through the great arches of black marble; mementos of triumphs past, during their successive wars with Ulthuan. Along the main roads and forums in Naggarond there were brutal columns and towers erected in memory of their great illustrious people.

‘And soon enough one will bear _my name_ …’ he dreamed.

Quietly chuckling he turned to his Master of Horse, Silus Cassian. The two comrades shared a knowing look before they chuckled.

Interrupting the moment of levity their ‘observer’ and the official representative of the Witch King on the mission; Curufor Alithar, spoke. His cold and emotionless voice announcing, “Well gentlemen. If this is how you typically conduct yourselves I would be remiss if I did not applaud you.”

The officers all looked to the grim, pale man, with interest but Malith regarded the agent with reservation.

He hadn’t liked the man since they met; he expected that the Witch King would have such an agent assigned to him. But he couldn’t quite pinpoint what was so _off_ about the fellow noble.

Curufor had a plumed ‘grotesque’ helmet, its shape and folds of steel gave the appearance that his head was coming out of a beaked bird’s mouth.

The overall motif of his armour being that of a perverted phoenix, ink-dyed feathers jutted out of his helmet, and his breastplate was bedecked in the avian theme; the steel had been hammered such that it gave the effect of overlapping layers of feathers.

But even without the armour knew the man’s nom de guerre was well earned, among the soldiery Curufor was called ‘the Black Phoenix’, a name he all but openly approved of.

His face was pale, and he had a few dueling scars on his right cheek. His hair was long, black, and greasy, framing his face in the opening of his helm, his eyes cold and grey looked around scrutinising everything in a way that only a pampered highborn could.

Across the bridge of his nose one could tell that it’d been broken before, and a few times when they were in the commander’s tent Legatus Malith had to admit that he considered breaking it again once or twice.

But for now they could enjoy their marching. Rolling countryside, wood, and valley lined the road, and tradesmen and commoner traffic abated for the marching legion.

Passing small hamlets set up around the rest-stops along the highway the men smiled and enjoyed the adoration of their fellow Druchii.

Slaves bowed their heads in fearful respect of the armoured legionaries and traders stepped along the edges of the marching column of cohorts offering the men ales, breads, and other wares.

The officers of those men marching alongside them on foot immediately roared to both their soldiers and to the salesmen, holding aloft their barbed scourges threateningly.

One of the officers on horseback raised a brow and spoke up to his seniors, “Ought we to make camp?”

Malith looked to Silus and his lieutenant answered for him, “We’ve just a few more miles to go before we reach the ‘crag.”

The Legatus nodded and added, “We’ll make a stop there for a few hours. But then we’re going to-“

Curufor interrupted General Malith, his voice rising, “Neither. We shall not stop till we reach the gates of Naggarond.”

Narrowing his eyes at the agent the eldest Naguii son held his tongue for a beat. Keeping down the insult at being overridden and temporarily challenged in front of his men, switching tact he looked back to the younger officers, “Aye… Alithar is correct.”

“We’ll probably make it to Naggarond before day’s end.”

In an effort to save face Malith turned in his saddle and held his fist high, “And then women and ale for all!”

The men cheered and rattled their weapons, holding their heavy marching packs over their shoulders as the information travelled down the lines of foot soldiers.

Seeking to ignore Curufor and the issues of politicking Malith held the magic idol in his lap tighter, switching his thoughts to that of his wife, his own woman, and the comforts of his home and general’s quarters afforded him in the capital.

Her sly voice beckoned him and he drew in a pleasant breath as he pictured her bared flesh and soft body.

Yet just as Malith began to enjoy himself the horns and trumpets of the band behind him signaled a time change and the whole of the marching legion nosily began shifting their ranks, keeping fresh their ordering and making sure to stay lively to any observers who may have been lying wait.

The totem idol in his hands felt heavier and he furrowed his brow as he looked down at the item.

‘What a trifle…’ he thought.

Silus raised a brow and turned in his saddle to regard the band, “Perhaps something more cheerful?” he asked aloud.

Looking back up Malith regarded the faces of his officers who all seemed in agreement.

With a smirk the Legate nodded, “Aye.”

Looking to Curufor he saw that the agent was nibbling on a dried piece of meat from one of his saddle bags.

“Would the lord of Naggarond care to weigh in?”

He raised his brow and shook his head, “Music means little to me, have them sing _Black Sailor’s Wake_ for all I care.”

Malith sniggered, he never imagined that the highborn, landlocked, pompous, Curufor would know such a low and vulgar shanty.

“Very well,” the Legate smirked.

Silus smiled, his prominent left incisor showing, as he yelled to the band, “ _Black Sailor’s wake!”_

The men cheered and the trumpets began the steady bass of the song as the soldiers began singing aloud, and though most of the men were not sailors some had followed Malith from when he had committed his Hakseer decades previously.

Coincidentally the shanty had become a favourite of the legion.

As soon as the men began the chorus Curufor’s eyes widened and he turned, having realised he made a great error…

“I sailed up high to Uthun’ coast!”

‘I sailed up high’

“To fuck a queen unlike the most!”

‘To fuck a queen’

“She was blonde and pink and her cunt didn’t stink and she said my husband knows!”

“But I stabbed him too and ran him through with a black sailing wake!”

The men cheered as the horns blew and Malith let out a laugh at Curufor’s expression.

“With a black sailing wake, with a black sailing wake, I fucked two Asur that day!”

“The Everqueen did ever cum, on my black sailing wake!”

“So I took it out, and she took it down, before I sailed away.”

“Before I sailed away!”

The men’s voices carried through the valley and echoed up the hills on either side of the Naggarothi highway as the agent of the Witch King grumbled and seethed at the noise of the cheerful soldiery.

“Sooner we get to Naggarond the better…” he whispered, ‘if only these fools knew the power their general was holding in his hands.’

Eyeing the wrapped totem in Malith’s lap Curufor shook his head and exhaled, ‘yet there was no daemon curse as his majesty had warned…’

Raising a brow and ignoring the men’s singing he pursed his lips, retreading the same lines of thought which had bothered him since they achieved their mission’s goal days earlier.

‘I wonder if the daemon of Khaine had already escaped or perished long before we found the idol.’

‘Perhaps the daemon was made an example of for failing the Lord of Murder…’ he scoffed, ‘Imagine if the beast has gone around, playing at a trickster this whole time…’

The grating of the men’s cheer made him roll with revulsion, ‘Gods… the plebs make such dreadful noise when they’re happy…’

…


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Summary: Grief and a small fortune set a fire in Raveres’ heart, and Jacque tries to be knightly.

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Twenty One

Each breath that the Druchii took was one of pain.

Her cheeks were cracking and her sunburnt skin ached with each pulse of her heart.

It was little over a day’s ride after the knights and mercenaries… With only the heads of her prey weighing her down Raveres and her riders rode through the rest of the day and even kept riding through the night. Briefly stopping at the oasis they’d visited earlier.

Even in the darkness of the moon-lit night the vultures were making meals out of the dead men that Raveres and her company had left there on their first pass through.

Resting the horses and taking on water the she-elf only allowed the men a brief breather before they set to again, determined to return to Al-Daouk as swiftly as possible.

As they rode along, she took solace in the cool breeze which drew across her uncovered face.

It was in the low lighting of the blue night that she also allowed herself to let show her emotion.

Quietly she let out the occasional sob of sorrow, able to masque it as merely pain from her wounds, a sound that none of the men would begrudge her.

As day began to dawn they came riding along the road towards Al-Daouk.

Re-donning her hood Raveres also drew a riding veil which one of the men had gifted her.

It was a simple piece of material which Yurin explained could be worn to protect from blowing sand, or from the oppressive sun.

Hooping the edges of the material over her ears it lightly rested across her face, giving her skin a much needed reprieve from the harshness of the unfiltered, cloudless, sky.

…

Approaching the city, they saw that they’d returned before Prince Balik and the others.

The city guard happily greeted the homeward riders as heroes but Raveres ignored everything, desiring only the seclusion and comforts of her palatial chambers.

But before riding to the Palace she spoke for the first time since the sun rose, asking hollowly; “Which way to the Bretonnian embassy”

Yurin enquired among the men and two riders volunteered to follow and guide her.

Looking at the men she bowed her head at the neck in gratitude, while the other riders traveled down the parade ground towards the noble quarter, and then their barracks at the palace.

Their guides stepped ahead as people were going about their morning routine, trying to adapt and keep on after the rough upending of their daily lives.

Yet seeing the riders and Raveres the people, regardless of their profession or station, gave her nods of respect, her reputation and fame having obviously spread among the citizenry.

While it stoked her ego the Druchii was intent on discharging her trophies as soon as possible.

Rounding the corner the familiar strange building came into view, armoured footmen standing guard outside its thick door.

Once they saw the riders and Raveres among them they hammered on the door.

“My lady…” Yurin began, “You can leave the message with me, you really ought to rest in the pa-“

She shot him a look and immediately the retainer quieted.

“Repeat my words without erring; I decided there was only one way fitting enough to relay this. And that was _in the flesh_.”

Yurin nodded.

Their horses slowed and when they came to a stop she stared down the armoured Bretonnians, snarling under her veil.

Eventually the Ambassador arrived, with more guards.

Stepping into the mid-morning light he looked up at Raveres with a furrowed brow and familiarity as he recognised the she-elf.

But before he could speak the Druchii reached into one of her saddle bags and brought out a fly covered head. Holding the dismembered man by his hair she threw it with spite as she began to speak and Yurin translated.

“I trust you recognise this man…” the head rolling at Ambassador Lucian’s feet was that of Sir Cratoun.

She reached into the bag and pulled out Sir Tormande’s ruined and broke-jawed head.

“… and this one as well!”

Throwing it after the envoy she stared the man down as his expression wordlessly asked what the meaning of this was.

“These men accosted me before, rebuked they left and plotted. It was your knights who set fire to the city. And it was your knights who _murdered_ Sir Jean and his squire.”

Her voice stopped and Lucian Dupris looked down as Raveres threw Sir Finise towards his brothers.

Then she unhooked the heavy saddle bag on her other side and let it fall from the flank of her horse. It collided with the cobble in a grotesque and wet crash, spilling a few of the lifeless, dull eyed heads.

“These are many of the men who they paid in blood money to kill your own knight, and to set flame to this city.”

Lucian’s face widened as he listened to Yurin’s translation, utterly dumbfounded.

“The knight and squire’s bodies are with me, and I shall return them to their country, far from this _sandy shit-hole_.”

She stopped herself and pointed one of her long gauntlet encased fingers at the man.

“And you will explain to Sadalsuud why his city was made alight, and why a _good man_ is dead.”

Tightening her hands around the reins she nodded and began turning the horse.

“I can only hope that this heralds the end of your presence in this city.”

Snarling in pain Raveres let out a breath and set spur to flank, “I care not for anything you have to say. But perhaps this time, you may just kiss my feet in apology.”

As she stepped back down the road the Bretonnians looked on in horror as she walked away, “If you value your lives I’ll be in the palace, _as a guest of the Emir._ ”

After finishing Yurin furrowed his brow and couldn’t help but regard the lowly Bretons with disdain before following after his mistress.

…

Once they had turned the corner and were out of sight of the Envoy and his men Raveres let out a weary sigh, painfully gritting her teeth and shuddering under her veil before turning to Yurin.

Though he was hesitant to meet her eye when he came alongside her she seemed somewhat recomposed as she spoke, “Now the market…”

She furrowed her brow incredulously, “Is it even open?”

Her voice was angry and hostile, but reservedly so.

Responding as plainly as possible Yurin spoke and nodded. “I believe so milady.”

She furrowed her brow as she looked to their sides, nearly all traces of the urban combat and fire removed, save for a few blackened buildings, “They’ve cleared the city and reopened their gates to trade that quickly?”

Years of living in Al-Daouk made Yurin somewhat familiar with how the city and Arabyans in general, responded to crises. And he admitted, “They can’t afford not to.”

“The lifeblood of their whole civilisation relies on the strength and regularity of their trade.”

He nodded, “If Sadalsuud were to keep the city closed for more than a few days he’d lose so much face and gold it would take a week to recover.”

She breathily chuckled, “Even their slave market?”

The retainer paused.

He’d hoped that she was merely jesting, or was going to forget that she’d said she desired soft fingers…

Yurin knew it to be a part of life, yet from all his reading and education he knew of places where slavery wasn’t allowed, and even actively abhorred…

Though the Druchii were reliant on slavery, and his mistress was literally going to be in the flesh trade the thought still irked him to a degree and begrudgingly he answered, “Aye”

She nodded and pointed ahead, thankfully missing his apprehension, “This way to the bazar is it not?”

He agreed uneasily.

“You shall aid me in seeing about a cask of wine, and sweet-meat slaves.”

She was still groaning quietly in pain, but at saying aloud both tantalising luxuries she softened and seemed a little more relaxed.

Risking his luck Yurin tried to dissuade her, “I may certainly help secure the former… but I.” he gulped, “I wouldn’t know about the latter my lady.”

Turning to look at her retainer she narrowed her brow and stared him down.

They began entering the busy bazar square. Row upon row of stalls and stands greeted them, and throngs of people were everywhere amidst the shouts and advertising of salespersons.

“Where’s the wine merchant.”

Nodding Yurin began looking from stall to stall before seeing a bright yellow banner with an emblazoned glass.

Pointing towards it he announced, “That one my lady.”

She followed his finger and nodded once spotting the stand.

The people in the market began parting for the horses as Raveres rode towards the merchant.

His face dropped and he gulped as he came face to face with a Druchii on horseback, flanked by three men bearing the Emir’s colours.

He bowed his head and many in the crowd watched on expectantly as Raveres spoke and Yurin translated.

…

“My mistress wonders if you have any wine of elvish stock, from southern Ulthuan? She cares not if it’s from inner coast or outer.”

The man breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, smiling and happily falling into his routine of selling.

“Of course! Of course!” he pointed to the she-elf and smiled widely as he looked from Yurin to Raveres, asking almost redundantly, “For the lady?”

Yurin nodded and the merchant put on a great show, turning to his assistants he spoke quickly, “Southern wine! From Lothern! Quickly you fools!”

The apprentices nodded and looked over the casks and barrels of varying sizes among the stall and the horseless cart behind it.

“Here master!” one exclaimed.

The two men lifted the rundlet onto the merchant’s table.

“Shall I tap it for you my lady?” he asked eagerly, “Surely my lady would like to sample it! Please I insist!”

Before Yurin had even finished translating the question for Raveres the merchant ordered his assistants, “Open it! Bring her a glass!”

As they pressed a spout into the rundlet they filled one of the few glasses that the merchant had atop his table for prospective noble customers to taste with.

His men offered him the glittering glass of white elvish wine and he held it carefully while turning towards Raveres.

Stepping beside her horse she took up the glass gladly, raising it to eye level she began looking over the clear coloured liquid before letting go of her reins and raising her veil.

Closing her eyes and throwing back the liquid over her tongue she felt the familiar orgasmic burning of the wine.

It wasn’t counterfeit and the merchant hadn’t lied about his stock… The taste rolling across her buds was the unmistakeable quality of decade-aged Asurian wine, something which the nobles of Naggaroth would never admit they longed for and envied; the climate of their home naturally unsuitable for the cultivation of such crops as grapes.

Savouring the lingering taste Raveres finally swallowed, the merchant erupting into a smile as Yurin translated, “My mistress asks for the cask, as well as any bottles you may have of the same stock.”

He bowed his head and nodded, “Of course!”

Snapping his fingers the men brought forwards several green glass bottles.

Raveres turned and began walking her horse away from the stall and through the crowd again, the merchant furrowed his brow, but before he could ask a question Yurin declared, “My lady is a guest of the Emir’s at the palace. If you could deliver the wine there as soon as possible she’d be most grateful.”

The man’s eyes widened and he looked to his assistants happily as he nodded and bowed, “As you say Sayidi!”

…

Turning from the wine merchant Raveres grumbled in pain, her face throbbing with heat from the skin.

“Where’s the slave stands?”

Yurin lowered his head as he rode along her right side.

“Just over there my lady.”

Passing through the enticing scents of spice merchants and food sellers Raveres steeled herself, hungry for a more satisfying release then that of food or drink.

She nodded and the pain of her wounds and burnt skin gave her an eagerness to get farther along, and likewise closer to the auctioning.

City guards allocated to the slave market held their hands up and formed a line barring passage as they spoke.

Yurin immediately translated, “They say no horses my lady… So perhaps we-“

With a groan Raveres hefted her leg over the horse’s head and slid from the saddle.

The guards eyed the tall elfish woman uneasily and she brought her hand to her belt as she stepped confidently forwards.

Yurin climbed down from his saddle and followed after his mistress holding his tongue as they entered into the populated and loud auction ground.

“I’ve never been here before my lady so I don’t know how all it’s set up…”

Raveres searched around the area, “I’m sure they’re all quite similar…” she mumbled.

Spotting an auction master she nodded and stepped through the crowd, “Come Yurin,”

…

Riding after the woman Shen, Jacque cried her name and waved his sword hand as he tried to get her attention.

“Please! I can aid you milady!”

She raised a brow and turned towards him as he brought his horse alongside hers.

“I’ve friends in Al-Daouk! I assure you!”

She smirked, her bruised lip flaring from the movement, “Is that so young Breton?”

He nodded and pointed backwards, “I swear if I were to show myself to those men we’d receive escort back to the city!”

Shen laughed, “Why do you follow me now little knight?”

He paused and closed his mouth.

Surly it wasn’t because she was so strange and _a woman_ … no it couldn’t be that. His pubescent voice cracked as he cried, “I-it’s a matter of honour!”

She smiled, her small mouth pursing, as she looked back ahead.

“Is it indeed?”

Jacque nodded, “Aye!”

Shen raised a brow as their horses continued galloping, farther from the battle behind them.

“How would that be?” she asked quizzically.

The squire immediately answered, “You aided me, and I am a noble squire of Bretonnia! It is only just that I aid you in return.”

She pulled back on her reins, slowing her horse. Shooting a glance behind them Shen saw that they were not being pursued.

“You know the Emir you say?” she asked, playfully doubting him.

He nodded emphatically, “I do! And I know members of his court too… I swear by the Lady.” His voice lowered as he added, “T-there’s also things I must see to back in the city…”

Shen raised a brow and looked from the squire, back behind to the battle, and then ahead to the faint sight of Al-Haikk.

She let out a sigh, “Would you swear to keep a secret young Breton?”

He piqued up and nodded, “O-of course?”

“There are those seeking me…”

His brow furrowed at the sudden revelation of clandestine information.

She laughed as she wrapped the reins around her hand.

“I’ve fled a long way… yet they are persistent creatures.”

Jacque swallowed nervously.

She looked him up and down before shaking her head and scoffing, “They came very close to capturing me before I ran into those men and was captured the same as you.”

Shen cocked her head and looked at the squire. “I must continue, most likely, forever looking over my shoulder… as prey to be hunted.” She raised her head back as she scrutinised the boy’s face.

“Your friend, the Emir, could you sway him to somehow protect me? An unknown… peasant?”

Jacque somewhat deflated and he answered, “No… well, I mean…”

She nodded knowingly, “And you, a squire… Shall you endeavour to be my protector?” she laughed, “You don’t even know me.”

The young man, earlier all vim and energy, was now embarrassingly reminded of his listless position in the world.

She waited as he sat silent; eventually speaking “I thought so.” Waving him away she set her spurs to flank and her steed headed onwards, “Go back to your people little Breton.”

Shaking his head and looking up he called after the oriental woman, a question nagging at him, “But where are you from milady?”

She looked over her shoulder, smiling, “What’s it matter? We shall never meet again?”

He kicked his horse and set forwards after her, determined, ‘I will not be afraid! Not of anything, nor anyone! Including her and her phantoms!’

Shaking his head he replied, redoubling his efforts, “Nay milady! You _must_ come back with me, I’m to return to Bretonnia, and I’ve an ally who seeks to sail the waves, so I insist! You ought to make use of my aid…”

Shen drew on her reins and looked at Al-Haikk once again as he continued,

“I may not be a knight yet, but…” he nodded, “You speak my tongue and must know how well I am bound to honour.”

She nodded, her lips pursed in entertainment at his reluctance to give up, “That may be so… But it is a knight who is bound, and a squire bound to him.”

Shen shook her head smirking, “I don’t see a knight with you little squire.”

Jacque furrowed his brow and steeled himself, admitting honestly; “He fell… saving my life.”

The woman’s face contorted in embarrassment, her jesting and playful tone replaced by sombreness, “I am sorry… Forgive me for making light of it. I, I did not know.”

The squire nodded, “But allow me to follow his example, I cannot route your enemies, nor would I claim to know of your trials, but… I am now devoid of companions,” his expression mellowed, before he looked up, hopeful and eager, “let me fulfill something noble of my own; by aiding you!”

Shen sat quietly for several moments, the noise of the men and woman yelling behind them giving speed to her thoughts. Looking to the youth she raised a brow before finally asking, “We’d pass to Al-Daouk, and from there a ship bearing us to your Bretonnia?”

Jacque held his face tightly composed as he nodded, “Yes.”

She looked at the closeness of Al-Haikk’s walls, debating the options in front of her. Quietly groaning she turned to the squire, scrutinising his face and asking deadly serious, “I have your solemn vow?”

Jacque nodded again as he held up his sword-hand, “In the Lady’s name, and by my King, I swear it.”

Satisfied the woman let out a weary breath, pointing past him towards the battle, she nodded “Shall we aid them first then?”

With a smile the squire turned ‘round in his saddle.

The Emir’s men were still in tough combat with the mercenaries and Shen had drawn her stolen sword.

She shook her head and chuckled lowly, almost in disbelief at herself.

Taking hold of his short swords’ hilt Jacque brought forth the steel and the odd pair turned to speeding back to the battle, their weapons held high, determined to further revenge themselves against their brief captivity.

…

After speaking with the auction master Raveres was informed of how the stock was divided and presented. Out here in the open air market those up for auction were low labourers, chattel slaves, miners, and the like.

More quality stock… those oriented more towards _other_ professions, were sold from several of the buildings which opened towards the bazar.

Enquiring which was most expensive and had the most exotic stock the man paled and laughed, earning himself a swift backhand from Raveres’ gauntlet and an immediate tongue lashing in front of onlookers.

After the Druchii pulled at his beard the master apologised profusely and pointed towards a large elegant building nestled in the corner of the marketplace.

Stepping ahead Raveres was greeted at the door by armoured guards, Yurin pointing to the still mounted cavalrymen indicated that his mistress was one customer they wouldn’t want to turn away.

…

Stepping into the plush interior of the building Raveres was led by a buxom matron, her body wrapped head to toe in layers of see through silks and her arms and fingers adorned with jewellery.

“Please, please sit! Most honoured guest…”

Brought into a wide room with a cushioned couch Raveres raised a brow and sat, doing her best at hiding her weariness and exhaustion.

Yurin drawing a deep breath stepped beside his mistress.

The matron of the establishment bowed to Raveres, “Water? Wine? Would there be any refreshment I might provide the lady?”

Yurin relayed the questions and the Druchii remained silent.

The retainer politely shook his head, nodding the hostess stepped back, “Very well. What might your mistress be in search of?”

Unperturbed from the dismissal of hospitality the woman smiled, swiftly using her salesmanship, “I can assure her that ours are the healthiest, and most sought after servants in all Al-Daouk! We shrewdly purchase and house our stock only for the most _noble_ of purchasers, and happily boast exotic flesh of every colour from all corners of the world. We proudly can attest that the Emir Hashan finds members of his own harem here from our wares!”

Raveres spoke, her voice even and plain, as if she’d done this before.

Yurin blinked and drew in a breath before relaying her message, “My lady desires to view what you would deem ‘the most prized’ of your current female inventory.”

The matron nodded and clapped her hands.

A scantily clad Arabyan woman, in red see through silk, stepped into the room and the proprietress spoke to her hastily before turning back to Raveres with a smile,

“Certainly, my lady, only but a moment and they shall be shown to you.”

In a few short minutes the red dressed woman returned with a line of prospective slaves.

They each kept their eyes directed to the floor and not one of them glanced up towards Raveres.

Leaning back in her seat the Druchii moved her eyes from woman to woman, scrutinising the plain clothed humans.

There were five being shown and Raveres looked each one up licentiously, thankful that her expression was being somewhat hidden by her veil and hood.

Cocking her head to the side Raveres pointed to a blonde woman, second from the front. Not moving her eyes from the female the Druchii spoke.

Yurin looked to the hostess and she eagerly awaited the translation, “This one, what is she and where is she from?”

The matron bowed, snapping her fingers and waving the girl to step forwards.

“This is Rhea. She’s nineteen years of age, pure, clean and unsoiled. She is of Imperial extraction and fluent in two languages; Reikspeil and Asurian.”

The woman slowly began to raise her eyes towards Raveres.

Her flaxen hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and her eyes were a bright blue, like water.

She was shapely, but her clothing was dully intruding over her natural beauty, her bare feet and legs were adorned by unsightly clasps and chains, restricting her movement.

As Yurin relayed the matron’s words the she-elf cocked an eyebrow at her bilingualism, and asked, “Can you understand me girl?”

The woman, hiding a shiver at Raveres’ very identifiable Druchii accent, nodded.

Under the material of her veil the she-elf smiled, though immediately the pain across her cheeks made her shut her eyes and seethe in pain.

The matron nodded and began adding other skills which Rhea had, “She’s able to play the flute she’s literate, she also-“

Raveres raised her hand and the proprietress stood, holding her tongue, as the guest spoke.

Yurin turned to the buxom matron and bowed his head, “My lady will purchase her.”

The matron smiled and bowed her head as she began, “Excellent! I avow that your mistress will not be disappointed!”

Moving her hands to clap and dismiss the rest of the slaves Raveres shook her head and Yurin cleared his throat, “My lady… is not done yet.”

The matron turned to regard her customer with wide eyes, almost salivating.

The imperial, Rhea, was worth a large sum, yet the attitude and regard which Raveres was acting told the proprietress that this guest was one: rich and two: familiar with this business.

As the mature woman looked at Raveres the she-elf spoke and Yurin repeated, “My lady says that Rhea should make ready and prepare herself for travel.”

The matron bowed and rubbed across her thick eyebrows, stress sweat beginning to form from her excitement.

“By all means! She’ll be given provisions, and all our slaves come with a trunk of possessions necessary for their own maintenance. This is of course… an included fee in the total purchase price…”

Mentioning the subject of money made the mature woman swallow and eye Raveres, wondering giddily just how deep the mysterious guest’s pockets were.

Rhea was led out of the room by the red clad Arabyan woman.

Looking at the four remaining Raveres scrutinised each intensely before pointing to the shortest one. She had ebony hair, trimmed short in a rounded bob just above shoulder height. Her eyes were a light hazel and her skin was tanned and olive.

The matron waved the girl to step forwards and she looked up from the floor towards the mature woman with hatred.

Immediately the proprietress snarled and snapped her fingers.

The tanned woman stood defiant before the matron looked to Raveres and began apologising, “She’s a stubborn girl! I… I don’t know why she’s here! I mean-“

Raveres leant forwards, raising her hand to quiet the matron again.

The tanned woman turned and met the Druchii’s gaze.

“What is she?”

Yurin translated.

Nodding the matron answered, “She’s a nomad from south of the sand sea. She’s a daughter of a fallen clan leader, after being captured she was sold and made her way to us. She speaks Arabyan, we know not her age. She’s quite resistant and spirited. Please, if it’s her swarthy and athletic appearance which entices you I may offer several replacements.”

Raveres shook her head.

The whole time Yurin relayed the Arabyan proprietress’ words the Druchii and slave were in a staring contest.

“Her name?”

“She’s known as Maya.”

Raveres nodded and waved the slave forwards.

Swallowing quietly the dark skinned woman followed the order and shuffled forwards.

The matron was correct in describing her as athletic…

Her arms and legs were taut with musculature, her body trim and devoid of fat from a highly mobile childhood.

Raveres rose to her entire height, drawing a breath and straightening her back as she imposed and made Maya step back, intimidated.

Looking away from the woman to the proprietress the Druchii nodded and spoke, with Yurin translating, “She’ll buy her too.”

The matron nodded, doing her best to hide her joy and remain professional.

Looking to Yurin she made a nonverbal question with her features if it was okay to dismiss the three remaining slaves.

He spoke with Raveres before looking back and nodding.

Maya stepped out of the room, ahead of her fellow slaves, as the red-clad woman ushered the stock from the showing room.

“Now about payment…” the mature Arabyan woman began. Her makeup and rouge covered features ecstatic at the sale she just presided over.

Yurin spoke and Raveres sat back down.

“My lady now wishes to view your male stock.”

Steeling himself and blinking the retainer nodded as he continued to repeat the she-elf’s words, “She hopes that they’ll be of similar quality and variety.”

…

As with the women earlier, five males were brought into the room following after the red-clad woman.

The line of semi-nude men stopped and turned face while Raveres did her best to hide a gulp of arousal at the sight of such shirtless masculinity.

First in line was a red haired Norscan, his chest scarred and his face brooding, second was a tall, muscled southlander. His hair was trimmed short and his dark eyes stared straight ahead, bearing himself with the dignity of a soldier. Next to him was a swarthy Tilean… or Estalian.

Immediately at the sight of him Raveres balled her hands into fists, quickly passing her eyes over the fourth, to look at the fifth man.

He was similar to Rhea, visually identifiable as an imperial. His eyes were a blueish green and his hair a light brunette.

Yet none of them stood out to her enough…

They were each of them handsome and attractive specimens, surely to satisfy and please the rich noble women, or men, who’d bless the establishment with their patronage.

But Raveres hadn’t gotten the same tugs as she had when viewing the females…

She was almost ready to dismiss the men and ask for more brought in, until she looked back at number four…

He had long sandy blonde hair, gracing his shoulders. He was the only one whose face was hard to see. And as if to add to the mystique he seemed to be looking down deliberately.

Yet unlike the others he had a quiet… _smugness_ … as if his current predicament was a passing trifle.

His shoulders and face had a light dappling of freckles and his abdomen and body was lithe, muscled, and cut in just the right places.

When he looked around on the floor Raveres marvelled and opened her mouth in licentious desire at the prospect of buying him… Of making him squeal, and of making him _hers._

The male’s eyes were brilliant and deep pools of emerald green. But once she saw them; it was his ears which made her most aroused and excited.

Long, elvish tips protruded from under his hair.

Feeling Raveres’ gaze he finally looked up to see his prospective master, only for his eyes to widen and his expression to drop. His natural sense of elven superiority, now replaced by fear when he realised what was under the hood and veil in front of him…

She nodded at his realisation and the elf immediately looked from the Druchii, towards Yurin, and then to the matron. His chest began rising up and down as Raveres waved her retainer to lower.

Whispering in his ear he then spoke to the matron.

…

That cow-uttered human spoke her incomprehensible language, beaming a smile to the armoured and sword bearing retainer.

‘Damn it all!’ The Asur thought.

“Why didn’t I bother to learn the language of the place I was travelling!’

Nervousness was making his back and neck perspire with a fearful sweat, his mind now racing.

‘Is she… is she truly a D-Druchii?’

He felt all his familiarity with his situation tossed away, now only a primordial fear gripping his heart.

He knew that he’d be sold, but he had expected… and everything told him it would have been to a _human_.

Any indignity or potential fearful treatment was nothing to him, for he was _so_ certain in his abilities to escape by offering his buyer his true name; believing that his blood relations would pay handsomely for his safe return.

Naturally he would have been ransomed after he plied his silver tongue.

And so confident in this was he, that the male Asur plied his charms on his fellow slaves and acted like he always had, even ordering some around, taking whatever he wanted and arrogantly disregarding the slavers attempts to ‘train’ him.

This particular Arabyan slave house, unused to having an Asur, was doing everything to treat him more as an odd guest, or a hostage, than as property to be sold.

He’d only been shown to a few prospective buyers, yet each paled and hid their surprise at the steep price demanded for the elf.

This, as well as everything else, caused Arathar to think of his slavery as merely a simple bump in his life’s journey.

But this woman… she… wasn’t human. Her eyes told him as much, yet it was her address which sealed his fear:

“ _Hello cousin…_ ”

The veiled woman’s accent was unmistakeable, and his freckled cheeks twitched as he tried to contain himself.

…

The matron announced happily, “He is indeed an elf my lady, we snagged him rather fortuitously! He was caught a few cities away, having run into some debts which he’d reneged on.” She laughed, “The beauty attempted to flee to sea before being caught.”

She sniggered, “His name, is Arathar, and from all we’ve gotten out of him he only speaks Asurian. I regret that he’s not more _broken in_ but he’s a most exotic treasure to be sure! What he lacks in formal training he makes up for in appearance.”

Raveres was glad for her veil; as Yurin relayed the woman’s words the she-elf could barely contain a sadistic smile.

‘Her very own sweet-meat Asur…’

The matron continued her sale’s pitch, “As with the others, he’s clean and unspoilt. As you can see his skin is unmarred and he has been fed well! He is of noble blood to be sure, boasting so to us.”

Raising a brow the matron looked at Raveres sternly, “But naturally we’re at a crossroads on whether to sell him or ransom him.”

The she-elf nodded, as she met her eye.

Smirking under her veil and holding back her pain she raised her voice as she stared him down and spoke.

“My lady wishes to see him closer.”

The matron waved the Asur forwards and he looked at the slave trader with horror. The woman sternly furrowed her brow and the red-clad woman pushed Arathar forwards.

Looking him over and blinking in approval Raveres nodded, “Make him mine.”

At this the high elf paled and his eyes widened.

The retainer nodded and looked at the matron, “My lady shall buy him, and conclude her business here.”

Swallowing and nodding the mature woman stuttered, “O-of course!”

Clapping her hands the red-clad woman pushed and directed the five men to exit.

Being led out of the room the Asur began voicing his protest, fear of becoming Druchii property driving him as he was corralled out of the showing room.

“Would you like the three slaves brought to your home my lady? Or perhaps-“

Yurin nodded as Raveres stood, “My lady is staying at the palace, a guest of the Emir’s.”

The mature Arabyan nodded and smiled, repeating her refrain, “Of course!”

“Payment will be delivered once the slaves are brought to her.”

“Indeed!”

“She hopes that she might be able to sign the bills of sale? They may be held with you until payment rendered.”

The woman nodded, “That would be most adequate Sayidi.”

…

Exiting the flesh house and remounting their horses Raveres rode back to the palace with a satisfied and excited smile across her features. Despite the pain of her red and cracking skin she couldn’t help but feel excited at the purchase of _so much sweet meat…_

‘Arathar, Maya, and Rhea…’ she thought happily.

Her own property…

Striding down the streets and turning onto the promenade towards the palace she immediately sobered and became solemn, recalling her first time down the elaborate road with Sir Jean.

She narrowed her eyes and became disappointed as grief and loss evicted her earlier enthusiasm and tired excitement.

Passing the threshold of the Lapis gates to enter the palace grounds, waiting horse grooms came forwards to help as Raveres, Yurin, and her two riders dismounted.

Sadalsuud stepped towards the edge of his landing, watching as his men, the translator, and the she-elf stepped towards the staircase.

His expression drooped even lower as he saw the cloak covered body strapped across Yurin’s horse.

The retainer hastily mounted the stairs and started speaking to Sadalsuud as Raveres, her face obscured by the riding hood and veil, walked past the Emir, only quietly making a minute acknowledgement of her host.

Entering the palace and ignoring the protests of the servants she stepped ahead, bearing towards her chamber.

Yurin did his best to explain what all had happened and Sadalsuud nodded as the two men interjected adding their own accounts.

After hearing the whole of the story the regent eventually declared, “I shall send for my court physician to attend to her…”

Yurin nodded appreciatively.

“And… when she’s…” the Emir paused but Yurin nodded understandingly.

“Tell her that I shall see to the young Bretonnian. I don’t know if she’d want to know this yet but the knight is already cleaned and dressed…”

He stopped and changed subjects as his expression pained, “The physician will be along shortly… go, to your master.”

Yurin bowed appreciatively as he stepped along after Raveres and followed into the palace.

…

Coming to the closed door of his mistress’ room the retainer hesitantly knocked, and took hold of the handle.

“My lady?”

Raveres was stripping her armour wildly, throwing pieces of metal to the floor as she growled and shuddered in pain.

Now in a place of privacy, away from others she let out some of her bottled emotion. Struggling with her left leg’s greave she looked at Yurin, her red face intensely eyeing him, “Help me with this gods damn you!”

Yurin stepped into the room and assisted in undressing his mistress.

Her chest’s bandages were falling from her sweat slick skin and her pale flesh was becoming visible through the cracking and uncoiling wrappings.

Yurin averted his eyes as he tried to focus on his job, “I made a report to Sadalsuud, I said all of what you had wished conveyed. He’s given you use of his court physician’s skills and I should expect the man to be along shortly.”

The she-elf moaned in pain and nodded, her greaves finally coming free from her legs.

Her body was drenched in sweat, grime, and dried blood.

Wearily she stepped forwards, not minding as her bandages fell away from her breast.

Taking a seat against the end of the bed she looked at her retainer while panting.

“See about running this bath too. And my pain…” seething she groaned through her teeth, “Gods, it _bloody hurts!_ ”

He nodded, continuing to avoid looking at her exposed breast and pink nipples as he thought aloud, “Is having those slaves attend to you really wise after everything my lady?”

Leveling her gaze at him Raveres stared down the retainer.

“I’ve not slept in almost three days. I’ve a ruined hand. My body is marred, my companions _dead_ … My skin!” she scoffed and looked to her shoulder, sections of her flesh already peeling and she pointed with her right hand.

“My skin is cooked _off!_ ”

Before she said anything more there was a rap at the entrance to her room, a bearded and robed man in the doorway. He was carrying a canvas satchel and stepped into the room slowly.

“That’s the physician?” she asked aloud.

Yurin spoke in Arabyan and the man responded. Quietly confirming, “He is my lady.”

“Good, now get him to give me something for the pain.”

Yurin nodded and the waved the man step closer. He did so while narrowing his brow clinically as he scrutinised the she-elf’s injuries.

…

The aloe oil was rubbed onto her face and neck and as soon as it’s cooling touch seeped into her skin Raveres cooed and let out a heavy breath of relief.

Drinking from a goblet of water she shuddered as Yurin applied plentiful globs of the thick poultice.

The physician looked her over, sewing shut and cleaning her many wounds before leaving her with a small clay pot of the aloe, along with instruction to Yurin as to the simple applications he was to do for her.

Shutting her eyes and leaning back Raveres breathed and thought aloud as Yurin gave a second coating to her nose and chin.

Raveres stirred under his light touch, grumbling in pain at his fingertips rubbing her ears. Small patches of her skin were beginning to peel under the white cream, and at the retainer’s touch.

Opening her eyes and rising up from her seat she finished her drink of water and nodded, more calmed and of a sounder mind than before, though still tired and grief stricken

“After speaking with Sadalsuud, what was it he had to say?”

Yurin reached for a hand towel and wiped his fingers clean of the sticky, aromatic, salve.

Hesitantly he asked, “Regarding what?”

Raveres raised a brow and cringed in pain at moving her face, “My ship… the goods he owes me, and healthy slave stock?”

Yurin nodded again, “Oh y-yes… of course. Well, it will take a few days for the… slaves, but the raw goods are already being loaded to a ship now.”

“I uh… can’t recall all the details but they’re non-perishable and sea going merchandise. The cargo’s luxury goods mostly; bolts of silk, crates of spices, barrels of preserves, and the like. But that wasn’t what he was most concerned with earlier on the steps…”

Nodding Raveres stepped up and away from her retainer, looking over the empty bathtub.

Her voice dropped, throwing away the earlier attempt to care for her trade agreement, “What else might be done for this pain…”

Yurin swallowed, “The ointment and a cool herbal bath would be most therapeutic my lady.”

She shook her head, “On the ship, what was it that I was given?” Turning around she furrowed her brow and seethed in pain, “Poppy oil was it?”

The retainer knew of the narcotic. It was an ancient remedy from ancient Nehekhara, quite wide spread in Araby and apparently also to the lands of the Far East. When smoked it gave a euphoric ‘high’ to practitioners while also lowering sensations of pain.

Begrudgingly he nodded, “It was.”

Nodding and stepping towards the bath the she elf nodded, “Secure some of it for me.”

Yurin was beginning to understand her better and better. “No matter the price my lady?”

Sensing his sarcasm she turned, snarling as she agreed, “No matter the price.”

…

Arathar was shivering as he dressed and was led from his small room within the slave house. The tunic he wore was plainly dyed and ill fitting; tightening his rope belt across his waist it took a more appropriate form.

Looking down he hoped to bear himself with at least _some_ dignity.

The plain slave-pants he was wearing and low quality slipper-shoes, together with the tunic made him look as much as a commoner as anything he could imagine.

It was a far cry from the raiment he was accustomed to sporting.

Now the only thing indicating his nobility and pedigree was his clean and handsome features, and of course his attitude. Brushing his hair to the side he gulped and followed the guard at his doorway.

Compelled by a strange fear to press on, he naively hoped ‘If she’s a Druchii I can play off her greed… that is _unless she bites my tongue off first…_ ’

He shuddered as he exited the building.

In front of him the Asur looked to his fellow slaves, his worry and apprehension growing as he was led to a carriage and the grim reality of his ‘sale’ sank in.

The tall blond imperial and swarthy nomad, were both chained together by a silver and iron banded collar around each of their necks.

There were guards a plenty to watch and ensure their compliance with travel.

And already there were some observers, keenly pointing and gossiping as they watched the auction house’s employees all but parade the three slaves.

After the chains linked to his ankles were removed, a choker was locked around his neck and he was now connected to the two human females.

The embarrassments of so many human eyes on him made Arathar want to curl up and become as small as a Gaean sprite…

Being directed towards the carriage by the auction house slavers he began panicking under his faltering guise.

Maya was at the front of their line and climbed into the horse drawn cart while swearing and grumbling.

Rhea turned and gave Arathar a fearful look, hoping in some way to get reassurance from her male companion.

Meeting her gaze she spoke in Asurian; “Do you think we’re to die?”

Despite her thick accent, which normally would have made him raise his nose in disgust, he honestly admitted, his mouth opening dryly, “I… don’t know…”

Their purchaser was a Druchii… ‘Surely…’ he thought, ‘who else would have greeted me with ‘ _cousin’_ …’

He shuddered as he reluctantly climbed into the cart.

‘Just think about their race’s avarice and not their darkness…’

Three small chests had already been loaded ahead of them; Arathar knew that within the small containers laid their affects

Now sitting in the carriage he began praying under his breath.

Before this point, even when he had reneged on his money-lenders and fled Al-Haikk, he never felt compelled to be as humbled as to ask the gods for favour, _or mercy_. He was already a blessed Asur, and the machinations of being made a debt-slave were almost ignored by his delusion.

Yet on his way to a Druchii’s clutches, he began to recall the gossip of others back home of their wayward and twisted exiled kin…

Of course it was exaggeration, idle and fantastical gossip among his father and mother’s enthusiastic courtiers… ‘ _Right?_ ’

Immediately he began invoking deities and being as elaborately fanciful in his mental praise as possible, ‘…blessed Asuryan, our great heavenly father, l-let me sway this woman with gold and promises…’ he nodded.

‘…great mother Isha grant me fortune, speed me home…’

His thoughts took this turn for quite a while, until when he felt a minute amount of relief he opened his eyes and looked around.

The cart began towards the ‘royal mile’, a street so resplendent it told him it was leading to the palace… and ‘their destination’

He gulped and looked to his companions, hoping that they’d give him a small measure of confidence;

Maya was scowling, her arms folded and her tanned skin glistening with sweat.

Rhea had reached into her small trunk and withdrawn an elaborately carved ivory flute. She was turning the instrument over and over in her hands, her fingers occasionally dry-playing across the holes, when she noticed that Arathar was watching she laughed nervously, “T-the matron boasted t-to our new maste-mistress, that I played.”

She cringed and laughed again, but it was one of fear as her voice plainly told him, “Our seller also said I was fluent in elvish…”

Rhea shook her head, “C-couldn’t be more n-nerve-wracking!”

Arathar nodded yet felt compelled to try and offer some kind of kindness, “You sound passable to me…”

The imperial stopped her faux-playing and looked up at the elf, smirking, “Liar…”

Maya, noticing the talking of her fellow slaves raised an eyebrow, and came to from her brooding.

Pointing to Rhea she spoke, “You understand me correct?”

The blonde imperial turned and nodded, “I do…”

Moving her finger to aim at Arathar she asked, “He doesn’t right? He only speaks knife-ear?”

Rhea spoke with Arathar and he visibly tightened before the imperial answered, “Yes, he only knows his own tongue…”

The tanned nomad began scratching her fingers through her hair, “Okay… so what can you tell me about our new master? What all do you know?”

…

Passing through the water and lapis gate of the palace the slaver’s cart passed an empty merchants’ carriage. The two men driving the trade cart were laughing and smacking one another happily as they yelled about ‘a job well done’ and ‘we need to stock more from Ulthuan’.

“Obviously they’ve made a good sale…” Arathar mused.

Rhea, uneasy at the prospect of meeting their owner nodded before repeating the observation to Maya.

“Ha…” the swarthy southlander replied dryly. “Traders; soft men… like you elf.” She retorted. “Pink hands and unscarred arms…”

She smirked and scoffed, “If our _master_ thinks I’m going to bow and scrape to her she’s dreaming…”

Rhea furrowed her brow as the cart turned round in the courtyard.

Atop the stairs of the palace was the armoured translator which had been present at their purchase.

The three met his eyes and he pursed his lips before nodding.

The slavers stepped down from their cart as horse grooms stepped forwards to keep steady the beast of burden.

One of the slavers mounted the stairs; in his hand he bore the parchment bills of sale.

Appearing to the side of the retainer stood two palace servants. The huge muscled men were carrying a chest, presumably laden with payment.

Yurin spoke with the slaver as Arathar, Rhea, and Maya were handed their respective trunk of affects.

The sale now formally concluded the slavers clucked happily as the gold-filled chest was brought to the back of their carriage.

The retainer atop the stair waved the three slaves to come, and for her attitude and earlier claims of defiance Maya was more fearful of moving forwards than either Rhea or Arathar.

“Come on…” Rhea whispered… “We s-should make a good impression.” She said optimistically.

Breathing life into hope Maya considered the imperial hesitantly as the two women stood before the staircase.

But it was Arathar who strode forwards, the chain around his neck forcing his linked companions to follow.

“I shall make endeavour to alleviate this situation…”

Rhea furrowed her brow as the three slaves walked.

“B-but how?” she shook her head, “You are as we? Whatever could you mean?”

He looked back with an arrogant smirk, “I’m of noble Asurian blood,” he scoffed, “Our master can become rich indeed if she releases me to my family!”

Rhea couldn’t help but purse her lips as she tightened her grip on her small travel chest.

‘I wouldn’t risk the lash so brazenly…’ she thought.

Yurin nodded as they came to the landing and he turned while leading them into the cool palace through its magnificent arches.

To Arathar such dazzling craftsmanship was lost on him, having lived almost the entirety of his life among the fabled island castles of Tor Elyr in his homeland of Ellyrion, as such the human creations of Araby appeared to him quaint and child-like.

Rhea and Maya however were both awed and cowed by the opulence around them.

To Rhea the greatest building she’d ever seen was vague memories of a high vaulted cathedral to Sigmar… for her the Sapphire palace had swiftly knocked aside childhood recollections.

Yet it was Maya who suffered the worst of what a palace aimed to do to its guests.

Her eyes were widened and she spun her head wildly from side to side.

She’d lived in her people’s nomadic stretch tents all her life, and since being sold she took quite a while to adjust to life within a building, let alone a wall-enclosed city.

Now in the Emir’s palace, walking through the threshold of its arches, craning her neck back to look up at its high painted ceilings and intersecting domes, she couldn’t imagine how man could build such a thing from rock and brick.

Yurin drew a heavy breath as he slowly stepped at the fore of the three slaves, hiding his discomfiture as he spoke, “I am Yurin, seneschal, retainer, and master of tongues for our lady.”

The reality of his own introduction made him subconsciously puff with pride.

He spoke the message first in Asurian, trying not to fall into Druhir, and then he repeated it in Arabyan for Maya’s sake.

Expectantly Arathar, Rhea, and Maya followed behind the, now unarmoured, retainer.

“As I’m sure you are each wondering…” he looked over his shoulder as they turned down a corridor, servants of the palace stepped aside and bowed their heads to him as they passed.

“Your new owner and mistress is the noble lady; Raveres Morthai Naguii.”

Arathar opened his mouth, quietly cringing at all the confirmation he needed… The name was so Druchii it stung his ears.

“You shall refer to her as ‘Lady Raveres’, or ‘my lady’. You shall observe her commands and whims… I have been told that if you serve her well here in Araby, she might endeavour to bring you along once she departs these shores. In addition to this she’s relayed to me that I should tell you; Lady Raveres is generous with her favour…”

Yurin pursed his lips as he recited her words, visions of her in battle and then the torturing she’d done came to him vividly, “and brutal in her wroth.”

They turned down another hall and slowed as they approached the guest chamber which had been granted to the she-elf.

Stopping a few yards before the ornately carved portal Yurin scrutinised the slave’s faces. “You may place your affects there.”

Pointing to the floor against the wall the three slaves bent and put down their small travel trunks before Yurin continued,

“Now, our lady has been in much battle, she is injured, and she has been kissed by the sun…”

His voice quieted, candidly, as he continued; “More than this, she has recently lost dear companions, turning to wine, smoke, and now… _flesh_ for solace…”

The retainer stepped back, realising he was being too familiar and ‘loose’ with his words.

Rhea gulped, Maya was still struck by the carpeting and walls around them, and Arathar appeared intent on saying something.

Shaking his head Yurin changed his tone, “My lady’s told me that she desires a cool bath, and company…”

The door opened behind him and a servant with an empty tray exited and Arathar leapt at the interruption, “Yurin, I am an Asur of noble blood, you must convey to your mistress that I am more than willing to pay a ransom and remain her hostage, as opposed to her slave!”

The way he moved his head made Yurin raise a brow incredulously, “I wouldn’t… well.” the translator turned and put his hand on the door’s handle, “Perhaps you can make such an overture to Lady Raveres…”

Before opening the door he sternly ordered, “Once entered you shall all bow to her. After such respect is given I shall unlock your collars from one another.”

…

Turning the handle and pushing the door open Arathar, Rhea, and Maya stepped after Yurin into the incense scented room.

The great bedchamber’s ceiling hung heavy with a light grey smoke and elaborate brass censers sat in the corners of the plush room, their perfumes rising into the air steadily.

To the one side was a stone bath, while the other was dominated by a great wide bed.

Ahead of them was a wide, curtain covered, window and balcony, the curtains were a light material, more ornamental than functional, and sunlight shone through them into the smoky room.

Looking around the three slaves almost couldn’t spot their owner, until she let out a breath and opened her eyes.

The noise made them look to the bed to realise that she was sitting on it, with her back against the wall, blending in among all the details of the cluttered and plush chamber.

Smoke rose from her mouth and nose as she exhaled, circling around her head and framing her intense violet irises.

In her hand was a long golden pipe, the end of which she brought to her mouth again. Her face was devoid of a veil and her long hair was roughly brushed to one side. The skin around her lips and across her cheeks was reddened and painful to look at.

This redness continued down her otherwise pale flesh towards her shoulders and neck.

She was clothed in a thin silken garment, the cut of which fell down her arms, coming to rest around her biceps. It exposed the top of her chest, and the thin material did nothing to hide the protrusion of her nipples or the curve of her breasts.

The yellow-red coloured material clung to her sweaty body, falling down her abdomen to rest over the thighs of her extended, criss-crossed, and muscled, ivory legs.

Taking a long draw of the pipe, Raveres blinked and titled her head down as she narrowed her widened pupils.

Yurin cleared his throat and the three slaves each lowered in a bow.

Arathar begrudgingly complied with the curtesy, but rose from it as quickly as possible as he began to speak.

“Druchii, I am of noble Asurian blood.”

Maya, Rhea, and Yurin watched with widening eyes as he spoke out of turn so blatantly.

Raveres’ retainer, already so unaccustomed to his position didn’t know what to do and so the impudent proud high-elf continued,

“I heard your retainer tell that you intend to leave Araby! I could make you return home to Naggaroth even richer, if you were but to ransom me?”

Raveres exhaled the smoke from her nostrils and watched the male unblinkingly.

“I know how great the greed of the Druchii is, and I’m sure that my family would no doubt pay greatly for my safe return.”

Yurin shut his eyes and cringed, ‘Listening to this fool… _he seriously does not realise he’s digging his own grave?!’_

Arathar nodded as he stupidly continued, ignoring Yurin’s earlier pointer about how she was to be addressed, “Lady Naguii I-“

Finally speaking Raveres coldly eyed the sweet-meat, ordering: “Silence”

Arathar furrowed his brow, in confusion, “But… I’m offering you a prince’s ransom?”

Blinking and turning to the table beside the bed Raveres carefully laid the pipe onto a gold and ebony tray.

“I have enough gold and ransom in my coffers to finance _an army_ …”

She moved her legs slowly to the side of the bed and exhaled as she stood, the silken garment moving and flowing as she turned.

“There’s no getting out of this moment for you.”

Arathar furrowed his brow and swallowed as he tried to keep his eyes on the Druchii ‘cousin’s face.

“Yurin, release them and then you are dismissed.”

“My lady?” he asked concerned.

“See to yourself, eat… rest.” She smiled at the retainer before turning to her slaves, “Care for yourself.”

Something about her smile was off putting; it was a mix of lust, domination, intoxication, and… something else, more elusive.

Bowing his head Yurin nodded, unlocking the collars and letting the chains fall to the floor the retainer turned to leave.

“If... if you need anything further my lady, send for me.”

…


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Summary: Locked in her chamber with her slaves Raveres seeks to sate her desire

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Twenty Two

(Uncensored)

After the retainer left Raveres pointed towards the bath, “You each are newly mine, so I shall make allowances for your behaviour just this once.”

Maya stared unblinkingly at the Druchii as Rhea whispered a translation for her.

Arathar stood, his chest rising and body shivering nervously as Raveres stepped closer to them and her gaze met his.

When the door closed and they each realised they were now alone with their master they began to realise what being _her property_ might entail, especially when her voice dropped coldly.

Her earlier warmth now gone and she spat venomously, “Strip, _prince_.”

The Asur’s lips parted, “I’m not a prince…” he quietly corrected, “I am Arathar R-”

Interrupting him with a swift backhand Raveres smirked, and nodded before looking him up and down, “Correct… you’re _not_ …”

Reeling from the surprising slap Arathar’s face widened as the iron-grip of the Druchii’s fingers took hold of his chin and forced her thumb into his mouth. Pressing it down _hard_ onto his tongue she asked coldly, “But do you know _what I am_?”

Pulling downwards with her hand Arathar was forced to bend from his standing position.

He nodded, his fearing eyes never leaving hers.

“Good. Now if you’d prefer to keep breathing, _kneel._ ” Her even tone, and black, opium-widened, violet ringed pupils, made the Asur shiver as he lowered to his knees.

Cocking her head to the side Raveres smiled in approval, “Very good Arath...”

He didn’t like the shortened _pet-version_ of his name, but he was quickly realising the risk in continuing to challenge his captor.

“Now, _strip._ ”

Withdrawing her hand from his jaw, and her thumb from his tongue, she stepped in front of the next slave, Rhea.

The Druchii’s proximity made the young imperial woman nod and nervously bow her head again.

“Your name?” Raveres asked, her tone was almost elated, eerily ignoring what she had just done to Arathar.

“It’s R-R-Rhea.” The imperial stuttered.

Nodding Raveres brought her right hand into view, as she repeated the name, “Rhea? Come closer.”

Mistress and slave were already less than an arm’s length from one another, and Rhea was struggling to not shake in fear of her owner, but she shuffled a few inches nearer.

Raveres leaned forwards, taking a handful of Rhea’s hair, as she shut her eyes and took a long breath.

Letting the locks fall from her hand she opened her eyes, and spoke, “There’s wine, just there, bring me a goblet.”

Pointing towards a table against the chamber’s wall Rhea dared to look where the she-elf had indicated.

Behind the slaves, to the right of the door, was a thin setting table. It was covered in plates of fruit and empty glass goblets. On the table, nearer the end, was a tapped, rundlet oak-cask, beside which sat several green glass bottles.

Whispering to herself Rhea slowly stepped towards the table, ‘Just get her the wine, you’re her s-server!’ she thought, ‘A… a host slave! She bought you for c-conversation, your languages, and music… maybe even singing!’

She smiled to herself, hoping vainly, ‘That’s it!’

Happy with this prospect Rhea hopped at the chance to prove herself useful, trying her best to ignore Arathar behind her on his knees, and Raveres’ intimidating stare.

…

As the imperial went to prepare refreshment, Raveres stepped in front of her third acquisition.

Looking over the swarthy _, former_ , nomad, the Druchii extended her right hand towards Maya’s face.

The southlander tilted her head upwards and steeled herself in resistance at the touch. Yet at the she-elf’s smirk and averted eyes Maya allowed herself to look down at her mistress.

With her so close the tanned woman was now able to see the muscles and lean duelist’s body of the Druchii. Her viewing was made more alluring by the fact that Raveres’ skin and form was barely obscured by her light silk garment.

As Maya’s eyes darted along the elf’s flesh she saw that, more than a strong warrior’s body, there were spots of blood seeping through and staining the transparent robe which the she-elf was wearing.

Looking closer the southlander saw that under the silk Raveres’ initially beautiful, albeit sunburnt, skin was covered in sewn or stitched wounds, cuts, and big, yellowing, bruises.

Maya furrowed her brow when she noticed the large bandages wrapped around and across the she-elf’s abdomen.

Raveres stepped back from the human and looked down at herself narrating, “I had a run in with a rather nasty fish. In addition to a few other,”

She looked up and smirked.

“Setbacks…”

The tanned human looked down as Raveres turned around and stepped back towards the side of her bed, Rhea was returning from the wine-table with a glass goblet brimming with the white Caledorian, doing everything she could to be as careful and as level with the glass as humanly possible.

Leaning forwards to pick back up the gold opium pipe, the back edge of the she-elf’s thin garment came upwards and the three slaves saw their mistress’ bare buttock.

Rhea shut her eyes and averted her face in embarrassment, Arathar’ tunic fell from his fingers as he remained kneeling, blinking and turning his head to ‘reset’ himself, and Maya looked on reservedly, her thoughts and inner reactions unknown to the others.

Turning back around and stepping towards Maya, Raveres extended the pipe to the tanned human, while taking up the glass of wine from Rhea.

Announcing loudly Raveres surprised the three with the sudden change in her voice, “Now! My burns _hurt_ and my body _aches_ …”

She looked at each slave and met their eyes, smiling to herself almost excitedly. Then she brought the glass to her lips and closed her lids.

Taking a long sip she exhaled in satisfaction before turning back to the imperial, “Fill three more glasses girl…”

Stepping towards the bath’s edge Raveres straightened her arms and let the silken covering fall away from her body. Raising her voice she continued with her order,

“Each of you shall smoke as much smoke as I, and drink as much wine as I.”

Bringing up her right leg and mounting the first step the she-elf turned to see the wide eyes and surprised expressions of her three slaves.

Rhea was quietly whispering a translation to Maya, and Arathar looked up from the floor in disbelief.

Furrowing her brow Raveres let out a slip of incredulity that they hadn’t yet moved.

“I want each of you in this bath _with me_ ,” she turned back and stepped into the cool water before continuing, “I didn’t take any of you for _simple_ when I bought you.”

Shuddering at the tingling feeling across her skin Raveres lowered and turned around to watch the three, taking another well needed sip from her glass.

Swallowing the burning wine her voice inadvertently let slip her impatience as she asked herself sarcastically, “I did not think that I had _stuttered…_ But, perhaps I was wrong?”

Rhea stuttered as she repeated as best she could what their master was saying to Maya. Hastily wrapping her soft lips around the pipe the nomad took a long drag of the familiar drug before handing it to Rhea and freeing her hands.

Chiming her approval Raveres spoke aloud, her voice somewhat sultry, “That’s better”

Holding in the breath Maya took hold of her tunic and pulled it over her head.

The she-elf’s eyebrow rose licentiously as she got to see the human’s exposed breasts and fit body.

The swarthy nomad’s abdomen had a few scars across it and a couple even dotted along the top of her chest; earned from glancing blows and slashes of past fights no doubt.

Yet thankfully she hadn’t anything to mar the taut and soft flesh of her bosom.

While some viewed scars as something hideous, Raveres couldn’t but feel a rugged attraction to them. Like Quartermaster Volish and his dueling scars… her father even had handsome scars, earned rightly in battle.

And her brother Malith had scars from campaign, from boxing, and dueling…

All men who had them made her ogle and swoon.

Elianna didn’t have any scars and she kept herself that way with creams and body oils… Marianna didn’t have any that Raveres could recall.

But here, seeing the thin old cuts and wounds across Maya’s tanned flesh, made the she-elf realise that she liked seeing them on a woman as well.

Having scars of her own she didn’t quite enjoy yet, and hadn’t made her peace with… But seeing that they were across Maya’s flesh and that, rather than diminish her beauty, they had added to an allure, giving a rugged, almost _savage,_ degree of eroticism to her body.

Seeing the light coloured, raised tissue made Raveres eye her slave more keenly.

Exhaling the smoke from her lungs Maya stared back at her mistress before grabbing hold of her billowy Arabyan style trousers. Pulling them, and her undergarments, down she kicked off her slippers to become completely naked under the watchful gaze of the Druchii, and reluctant eyes of her fellow slaves.

Her thighs and her muscles tensed as the air danced along her now exposed flesh.

A few pale scars also ran along the dark olive skin of her thick thighs.

At the sight Raveres bit the inside of her mouth silently, struggling from rolling her tongue out and licking her lips. Smuttily the Druchii was caught in a loop; imagining how she’d soon be touching her lips to Maya’s marks and eagerly adding; ‘ _maybe I ought to be_ _adding some marks of my own?’_

Between the attractive thighs of the southlander was a mass of trimmed, curling black hair which obscured her womanhood from sight. Since the pubis mons and external labia were hidden it had the effect of tantalising Raveres and made her let out a heavy exhale.

Maya had seen the licentiousness with which her mistress looked at her and blinked quietly while breathing calmly. Turning to her side the naked slave retrieved the pipe back from Rhea.

The swarthy woman took another long drag of the smoke, sighing with relief and familiarity as she swayed rhythmically; the drugs now making their effects in her body known.

Arathar was still only shirtless and looked at the naked human uneasily, visibly uncomfortable to be confronted with two nude women in such proximity.

Walking with a strange confidence Maya pushed past Rhea to the wine table.

Rhea’s face was beet-red and she held a hand to her mouth in nervous apprehension at such bare flesh around her.

Raveres watched the retreat of the young woman with a smirk of satisfaction; to her the imperial’s advertised virginity and purity had certainly been proven genuine.

Filling a goblet herself, Maya brought it to her lips and removed the pipe before she downed the whole glass, panting and coughing before quickly refilling it.

Rhea watched on in frozen surprise, while Arathar blinked and tried not to look at the naked woman’s round and smooth backside, and of course… he wasn’t looking between her supple cheeks…

Nor did he trace his eyes along the edge of her body, before peering between her thighs.

Arathar wouldn’t _dare_ be sneaking a look at the warm… enveloping… attractive, entrance to a woman. Especially one belonging to a _human_ woman…

No, of course he wasn’t…

Panting with hidden anxiousness Maya reluctantly turned around and swallowed the mouthful of wine as she strode towards the bath.

She could feel their eyes on her… she could feel them gazing at her and dancing along her flesh… But she would _not let them get to her_ …

Taking another long sip she placed the goblet down on the stone edge of the bath before walking up the step and entering the cool water.

Exhaling wearily and immersing herself she sat to Raveres’ right side before reaching back and taking up the goblet.

Spitefully she met the Druchii’s eye as she drew another mouthful of smoke.

Impressed with the slaves’ display Raveres slowly moved her eyes away to look at the other two.

“Well?” she asked.

…

Arathar was visibly tense, his breathing anxious and heavy as he finally brought down his trousers.

The two women in the bath looked at him intensely as he revealed his lower body, Maya’s eyelids seeming a little heavier as the poppy-smoke mixed with the wine in her near-empty belly.

Raveres spoke up, interrupting the otherwise awkward silence as she teased, “Come now Arathy, a male such as you should be more eager to be locked in a room with three naked women.”

She chuckled and caressed Maya’s cheek with her free hand, “Even if two are human and one is a _cousin…_ ”

Arathar swallowed heavily as the material of the trousers finally fell away from his body.

His body hair was a golden colour but he swiftly moved his hands and shyly covered his manhood before Raveres, or Maya could have gotten a clear look.

Maya let out an intoxicated and eager coo of excitement while Raveres matched the feminine call with a playful scold, “Ah ta ta… If you insist on covering yourself, well… who knows what might happen, or might not?”

Smirking the she-elf looked up, her playful guise barely hiding her genuine contempt and terrifying rage. Her voice and how she had said it was indeed playful and flirtatious. But Arathar knew at once that it was an act, and she was _nowhere near_ as intoxicated as she might otherwise appear.

Though he hadn’t much sense before, Arathar immediately began breathing shallower as he realised the veiled threat, which only he had picked up on; Maya hadn’t seen the she-elf’s face and only heard her words. And he wagered the same was true of the imperial Rhea.

Perhaps by design, only the male elf got to see just how barely contained his Druchii cousin was.

Arathar slowly nodded his head quietly as he moved his hands away from his manhood to comply.

Raveres titled her head to the side as she looked his naked body up and down, now completely at ease that she’d gotten ‘her way’ and that she’d nonverbally explained the situation to him; she was not going to be refused _by anyone_.

Running her eyes along his flesh, for a brief moment Arathar swore he had seen something in her expression, something perversely surprised. He wanted to furrow his brow, and ask about it, but instead he merely wondered dully, ‘what was that for?’

The Druchii quickly looked away as she spoke up, “Right well, get in _cousin_. Rhea? Wine?”

The imperial opened her eyes as the male Asur began mounting the side and entering the water with a sharp exhale, and her gaze became fixated on his naked back. She opened her mouth and stared, stunned, at such masculine elvish beauty.

As if enchanted she sighed and stared as he moved, her throat drying and mouth opening as she looked at the male.

Raveres chuckled and rose from the water, water running down her breasts as she stepped across the floor of the large tub. Arathar froze and stared at the Druchii as she stopped his motion and wrapped her hands around his head.

His breath was coming out rapidly as Raveres closed her eyes and brought her lips towards him in a kiss. He already smelt clean… and despite the rags he was wearing earlier his scent was pleasant, like that of tealeaves and spice.

Rhea let out a meek noise of surprise and Maya widened her eyes, as the two women watched the elves loudly embrace. Splashing water, Raveres forced herself against Arathar and he tried not to fall back out of the wide tub.

“Oh good god above…” Maya let slip loudly, “by the Prophets’ balls…”

As if agreeing Rhea quietly swore, “By Heldenhammer…”

The two humans watched the loud… wet… _erotic_ smocking of bodies and mouths before them.

At first unsure of how to react, Rhea covered her mouth with one hand and brought the other to her chest, over her heart.

Maya sat with widening eyes and shuffled uncomfortably as she moved her head and tried to get a better angle of the embrace.

Arathar however, was doing all he could from physically falling as he hastily thought, ‘By the gods! Sh-she’s mad!’

Of course that, and other similar exclamations were what the reasonable part of his brain tried thinking.

But the warm feeling of her lips against his, the soft press of her breasts and skin against him, the feeling of her fingers along his arms, her tight grip holding him in place… It made his tired and stress-filled body shudder in her grasp.

More than her sudden attack, he was more concerned with how welcome the feeling was.

The last time he had known a woman’s touch, similar to this, was a few months previous, just before he had left Ulthuan.

Yet now, in Raveres’ hands and with her _naked, warm… soft…_ body pressing against him… He was struggling to understand what he was _not to do._

‘Could I touch her?’ he thought vainly, ‘can I? Oh… oh gods…’

She ran her mouth along his, with her eyes shut tightly as her tongue rubbed his.

‘She tastes… like… I… great father Asuryan,’ he faltered and pressed against her kiss, no longer passive to it.

Letting out a heavier moan mixed with a chuckle Raveres audibly made notice of and approval of his ‘giving’ in to her.

‘ _fuck…_ ’

Her hands pulled across his back tightly and he could feel her naked breasts squishing against his pectorals. Her hardening nipples felt perversely arousing as they dragged along him and occasionally brushed his own.

‘I… this isn’t…’ he thought wearily.

As she kissed and rubbed his back the Druchii also seemed to be moving her body from side to side, wetting him and rubbing their skin against one another rhythmically.

Maya’s breath had become audible as she looked on eagerly, having moved from her seat to get a better vantage from which to watch the active mouths of the two elves.

Rhea shook her head and tried looking away, feeling almost dirty from seeing the two… and from _hearing it…_

Breaking off the kiss for a moment Raveres cooed, it was clearly acting for the whole ‘play’ of the moment, but it still worked on Arathar as a seductive line.

“Oh Arathy… you taste so…” she extended her tongue and ran it along his lips before chuckling and kissing a line across his cheek to his ear.

“You taste so _good…_ ” she chuckled and sighed, almost moaning, “So sweet… _like a honey morsel._ ”

Arathar shivered and shook his head.

Leaning closer Raveres sighed and moved a hand from his back, exploring his skin farther down.

“I wonder…”

Kissing his cheek and looking down their conjoined form, she cooed, “Is there enough of you to go around?”

She smirked and kissed him again, digging her fingers into his flesh and tightly mooring herself as she ravenously gave herself into the forceful and _loud_ resumption.

When the embrace finally ended Raveres let go of her fellow elf and brought a hand up to wipe away the spittle which she had _lovingly_ drawn from Arathar’s more than pliant mouth.

Once free from her grip, the elven slave weakly sat down into the water, heady and his chest awash with elated and primal excitement.

Stepping out of the bath Raveres stared at the still motionless Rhea and began walking towards her, holding out her right hand and raising her voice pleasantly as she cooed,

“Come now Rhea…”

…

Arathar pressed the glass to his mouth and downed the last of his wine as fast as his anxious body allowed; the smoke that the she-elf had forced him to inhale made him cough and sputter as alien tendrils of cold spread throughout his chest.

It made him feel bewitched as his skin danced and he let slip a moan.

Raveres was sitting opposite him with Rhea on one side and Maya on the other. The two humans were rubbing oil and soap along the Druchii’s flesh as she groaned and let out quiet whispers.

Her head was leant back and eyes shut, and to the two women acting as her attendants she appeared engrossed and tiredly resigned to a simple bathing.

Yet under the water, under the soapy bubbles, rubbing-oil slicks, and through the grime of the four sweaty bodies Raveres right foot was extended across the middle of the bath.

She was resting it between the male Asur’s legs, with her heel pressed to the stone seat and her toes pointing upwards so she could occasionally rub against Arathar’s manhood.

At first it made him hold his breath and freeze in apprehensive fear.

But now as the narcotics and alcohol wormed their way through his body and dissolved his inhibitions, he couldn’t help but become more compliant and eager for the sensation.

While his natural elvish constitution had taken time to finally feel the effects of the drugs the two humans were far gone...

Arathar lost count of how many times either Rhea, or Maya was ordered to exit the water and refill the wine glasses, but the two human women were leaning against and running their uncoordinated fingers along Raveres’ pale flesh erotically.

Maya’s tanned breast was nestled against the Druchii’s right hand and with a periodic caress the pale fingers of the she-elf would glide along the oil slick and glistening flesh to touch and tease the human’s erect nipple.

The woman in turn ran her hands, along Raveres’ arm and tentatively attempted to mirror the same motion on her mistress’ breast.

Rhea was far less brave and was content to be rubbing her hands in small circles on Raveres’ arm. She mirrored Maya only in that she was as receptive to her master’s touch, but the eroticism of the Druchii’s fingers was far more temperate.

As she became more receptive and compliant Rhea had leant forwards and was tentatively resting her head against her mistress’ shoulder and her cheek to her top of Raveres’ breast.

Despite the burned skin underneath Rhea’s weight, the she-elf showed no signs of pain, and was instead entirely given to the sensations of the moment.

For if only they knew that Raveres was so pleased with herself and excited to own them that nothing short of being struck would have brought her down.

The Druchii was absolutely determined to enjoy these carnal pleasures and live as wantonly hedonistic as possible, for the foreseeable future. Anything which transpired since entering and before leaving this room would be a libertine celebration of life, and a welcomed indulgence.

Anything to avoid what awaited her outside the walls of the room.

The problems, the grief, the plans… _everything_ could wait until then.

And for now, Raveres had succeeded in locking certain parts of herself away, and she was glad of the euphoria which the smoke had given her, the release which the wine had mercifully granted.

Tracing his eyes across the naked, glistening, beautiful women in front of him, Arathar moved in his seat, giving in to the eroticism of the view.

The little half-giggles, the swishing of their fingers against one another, their slick skin shining…

Then, _they began kissing_

Arathar opened his mouth and let out a heavy breath.

Raveres had leaned towards and pressed herself against Maya.

The nomad, gone with the smoke and drink, playfully pushed out her lips and met the Druchii in the perverse and sinfully erotic kiss.

The male elf shivered and watched on, before a compulsion made him move his hands through the water.

‘I have to touch one of them…’ he thought madly.

Just to feel their warmth under the pads of his fingers; the soft womanly flesh in his grasp…

‘They’re so close…’ he repeated desperately.

The light dancing off of Raveres’ oil slick skin and the smocking of her lips to Mayas… the tanned lines of their flesh. The muscles... From the way that they were turned he could see a bump appear and subside in either of their necks.

‘The excited pulsing of two passionate hearts…’ he mused poetically.

‘Gods… please… lord Asuryan g-give me strength… I…’

Wanting only to reach out and touch one of the naked females so _tantalisingly close_ he moved in his seat and dared to aim his hands at his mistress.

At this Raveres opened her eyes while breaking off the kiss.

Reaching her hand up from Maya’s breast she ran it lovingly through the human’s hair and directed her face towards the she-elf’s skin.

As the swarthy woman’s lips made contact and began pecking little kisses against her arm, Raveres relaxed and tilted her head down to see the stirring male under the touch of her foot.

The Asur was staring straight through the soapy and oil covered water at either female’s obscured womanhood.

Catching his expression the Druchii quietly spoke, “Are you now more appreciative of what I had in mind cousin?”

Arathar blinked and looked up as Raveres slowly ran her foot against his manhood again before moving and withdrawing it from between his legs.

He closed his mouth and swallowed dryly, he dared not to speak.

“Or perhaps…”

The she-elf turned towards Maya and withdrew her arms from both women’s grips.

Rhea lifted away and shrunk, embarrassed that she’d been leaning against and enjoying herself as she had been.

Raveres brought her hands to wrap around the swarthy human’s head, “you’d like to see something else?”

Closing her eyes the Druchii moved against Maya and began kissing her again, but this time louder and more forcefully.

Arathar scoffed in disbelief, his heart beginning to thunder in his chest.

Breaking their kiss, but keeping her eyes on the human in her hands the Druchii spoke, “Rhea dry off and lie down on the bed.”

The she-elf’s tone left no room for interpretation, and Rhea felt a splash of sobering clarity. Quickly becoming clear headed the imperial stood, but never having drank so much wine before, she had to take her time in steadying and stepping up and out from the large bathtub.

With a quick shot of her left hand Raveres slapped her knuckles against the human’s plump backside, eliciting a shocked cry as Rhea nearly stumbled down the stone step. Quivering and shuddering in surprise the blonde let out a small, quiet, moan of pain.

Chuckling to herself the Druchii moved her right hand from the side of Maya’s face and slowly ran it along the woman’s body till going below the water. Issuing a low moan of satisfaction Raveres pressed her lips back against the human’s and resumed their kiss once again.

During their kissing Raveres moaned quietly in between smocks; “I wonder Arath… do… mhmm, you… have an… any proble-m bedding… mhmm a human?”

After visually torturing him with the erotic display, the she-elf finished the kissing just as their breathing intensified and Maya’s held air gave out.

Drawing a sharp intake Raveres began rubbing her hand down towards Maya’s womanhood.

At first the tanned human shuddered and tried moving herself back and away as her mistress curled her hand around and pressed the pad of her index finger against the sensitive hood above the human’s clitoris.

Maya’s resistance became pronounced, even though she’d been plied with wine and smoke, she wasn’t yet Raveres’…

_Yet_

Kissing and rubbing her fingers up and down the human’s neck the Druchii tried sugar to get her way.

Slowing her pace down she followed what she’d learned from Elianna; _take your time…_ _Soft kisses, light teasing caresses_

‘Make her wanting…’ she thought with a carnal smirk, ‘build her up, make her _ache_ , make her _wet…_ ’

‘Make it _torture_ of a different sort, and make her _beg_ for release.’

Raveres nodded to herself and devoted her lips and efforts to making the smallest, lightest, movements possible.

Arathar swallowed dryly, a strange carnal lust was rising in him and he couldn’t give a shit about anything other than acting on what was bubbling in his chest…

Watching the painfully carnal interaction before him he tentatively began gripping himself under the water, firmly wrapping his hand around his manhood and letting out a breath of satisfaction at the familiar feeling.

Raveres leaned away from Maya, who was continuing to try and move away from her mistress, to look at the freckled Asur.

When her violet eyes met his emerald she smirked and boasted quietly, “You’re going to fuck this girl before the day is over…”

Rubbing and touching Maya’s folds with the light tips of her fingers she teased and elicited a pained, resistant moan, from the human.

Cooing and lowering her voice to a whisper Raveres began rubbing her face and nose against Maya’s neck and cheek, asking, “Wouldn’t you like that?”

Pressing her finger lovingly against the human’s clit and slowly stroking up and down the folds and lips of sensitive flesh she continued with her questions.

Since the swarthy, tanned, nomad spoke neither Druhir, nor Asurian, everything that Raveres was saying was either for her own perverse entertainment or for Arathar.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to feel _such a warmth and completeness_ …” teasing her finger between the top and bottom of Maya’s entrance, she planted a kiss against a sensitive spot of the human’s neck and finished her evil question, “deeply within you?”

Her light touch was slowly working over the nomad’s resistance, and Elianna’s teenage tutoring had paid off.

Secreting her feminine taste into the waters Maya was almost betrayed as her body became played by Raveres’ expert touches.

Each caress, every tease, and even the feeling of the she-elf’s breath across her skin…

Maya shivered in the water, ‘becoming won over wasn’t going to be easy!’ she thought defiantly.

Yet as the fingers ran along her lower lips…

As Raveres pressed her slick finger against the human’s clit… Even when she explored the side folds of her womanhood! Each electric sensation and her mistress’ perversely _glacial_ pace of movement was like a torture she’d never known or heard of before.

Kissing her way along Maya’s face and coming to lick the human’s earlobe the Druchii opened her eyes and stared at Arathar, asking aloud breathily; “Doesn’t he look like _a skilled lover?_ ”

Tapping Maya with her free left hand she pointed across the water and the human met her eye before following the finger.

As she looked over at the other occupant of the tub Raveres explored the woman’s glistening body even more intimately.

“He’s going to be _fucking you_ … Do you understand?”

Maya mumbled in her own language and looked back.

Her eyelids fluttered heavily as Raveres continued to tease and to stroke her fingers up and down…

Up and down, through the warmth and soft, velvety, folds of her fellow female.

By now Arathar was shaking his head and hesitantly stroking himself under the water. His own eyelids fluttered and his breathing was becoming heavier and shallower as he watched, utterly entranced, by the lusty performance.

Lightly biting the bottom of Maya’s ear, Raveres continued to stare at Arathar as her words became dirtier and more erotic and her fingers became more forceful.

“He’s going to be pulling your hair… and filling you. And you haven’t _any_ idea of what I’m saying…”

Rolling her finger along the ridges of her pussy Raveres made her way to Maya’s clit and started pressing and rubbing from side to side and top to bottom, over and over.

Each rotation became stronger than the previous.

Her nerves now dancing the human was melting under the she-elf’s touch and presence.

Her voice was slow and sensual, “Maya? He’s going to make you _scream tonight…_ ”

Smiling sadistically she slowly moved away from the human, and brought her free hand towards herself.

Bringing the tips of her fingers across her chest she playfully touched herself.

“Would you like that Arathar?”

Her voice quieted as she began pressing her fingers against Maya’s clit, _harder_.

Shuddering and moving abruptly the human shot her arms out for purchase in the water. Sending a wave and sloshing some of the soapy bath over the edges of the stone sides.

“ _Ah!_ ” she exclaimed in surprise.

Her eyes opened wide and Maya turned to look at her master pleadingly as she spoke in her own language.

The Druchii had won…

Arathar saw Raveres’ hand moving faster in between Maya’s thighs and he let out a heavy breath, only able to imagine what she was doing to the human.

At first the human sounded pained and surprised, but then she shivered and moved backwards, as if she’d been suddenly struck.

But then she started screaming in satisfaction.

Finally giving in Maya tightened her legs around Raveres’ hand and began pressing herself against the pale elf’s fingers, almost riding the waves of electric sensation.

Moaning loudly she licked her lips and became wanton with her enjoyment of the masturbation, “Agh! Oh! Oooooh….”

Raveres had wiggled her fingers against the human and curled her hand so that her middle finger was now entered into Maya’s cunt. Positioning her hand expertly the she-elf’s thumb maintained a pressured touch against the human’s clitoris.

Narrating Raveres brought her left hand away from her own breast to run across Maya’s.

“Oh Arathar… I’m getting her wanting for you…”

Grinning sadistically she nodded, “You’ve no idea how _tight_ she is…”

Looking away from her prey she stuck her tongue out and raised her voice, “By the gods Arathy… it’s all I could do to get my fingers _in!_ ”

“You’ve such a…” she acted with a faux moment of modesty as she stuttered, “Well… it’s such a, I mean; it’s a _cock._ I’ve seen some others, but… oh Arath.”

With a smirk Raveres watched as Maya shut her eyes tightly and opened her mouth quietly.

“She’ll not be able to walk afterwards…” she lowered her voice, “I’m _sure of it…_ ”

Looking back to the Asur with a raised brow Raveres continued, “You best not be disappointing for her cousin…” with a sly smile and lick of her lips the Druchii ended licentiously, “ _she’s oh so ready_ …”

Distracting Maya with a kiss Raveres withdrew her hand from the water and then human shot her eyes open, her expression disappointed as she looked pleadingly towards the she-elf for resumption.

Arathar simply let out a bottled up breath as he quietly groaned.

Rhea struggled to find her voice on the other side of the room.

She’d complied with Raveres’ order to lie on the bed, but since the she-elf began her erotic and loud molestation of Maya, the poor imperial had sat motionless, merely watching.

“M-my la-lady? W-what next?” the blonde finally croaked out.

Not moving her eyes from Arathar’s, nor missing a beat, Raveres responded, “You will wait _right there_ , like a good girl…”

Rubbing her right hand down Maya’s chest, between her warm soft breasts, and along her abdomen, the she-elf slowed her hand to tease and lightly touch the human, through the hair covering her pubis mons.

Pressing between the outer folds of the human’s aroused womanhood Raveres pressed her index finger through the slick skin to again find her swelling clitoris.

Maya’s breath had caught at the resumed attention, heady from the drugs and wine, she eagerly moaned and nodded at the return of her master’s finger.

Exactly what Raveres wanted to hear…

The human was, for the moment at least, pliant in her hands like clay, and surely fit to fuck anything for release.

Rubbing her harder the Druchii made Maya shut her eyes tightly and shiver while letting out an even louder moan, eagerly greeting the digit which was exploring and teasing along the sides of her clitoris and entrance.

‘Oh gods yes!’ the human cried.

Though it was in her own tongue, Raveres needn’t any translation and chuckled lowly in victory.

Pressing and increasing the speed with which she molested the slave Maya began crying and letting out cries of pleasure and encouragement; demanding release, and singing to be led to climax.

But unfortunately for Maya as soon as she began leaning her head back so welcomingly…

As soon as she gave herself away to her master, screaming for climactic release…

Raveres moved her hands away from the tanned human and stood from the water in a loud slosh.

Her attitude changing as she looked at both Arathar and Maya’s expressions.

Using her hand to accompany her words Raveres ordered sternly, “Up, and dry yourselves.”

Maya looked from her exiting mistress towards Arathar, in utter disbelief. Her lip quivering and her body shaking in addictive withdrawal from the sexual attention she was now craving.

Dripping and exiting the bath Raveres let out a deep laugh as she stood beside the edge of the tub and took one of the towels sitting on the stone step, using it to only give her self a cursory drying off.

The southlander nearly fell as she leapt after Raveres, wrapping her wet arms around the she-elf’s midsection and splashing water over the edge and down to the floor.

“Master!” she cried, “Please give me release! I’m so close! _I…I need it!”_

Arathar sat up with a start as water splashed his face and soap temporarily blinded him.

Letting out a gasp of surprise and then a grumble of pain from the touch to her abdomen, Raveres immediately turned around and firmly took hold of the slave’s hair.

“Master, I _agh!_ ”

Maya let go of her arms around the Druchii’s waist and let out a cry in protest as the she-elf stepped towards the bed, pulling her woman along.

‘Throwing’ Maya towards the bed, the tanned southlander fell onto the cushions besides the waiting Rhea, the imperial had brought her hands up pathetically as she flew and landed beside her.

Water dripped and splattered from the southlander’s wet skin as she moved.

Rhea was startled and her eyes widened in suppressed fear that Raveres might have been _too rough,_ or that she’d become displeased that Maya had touched her in such a way.

But rather than turn and eye Raveres with anger or discontent Maya looked up and opened her mouth, made more aroused by the dominant aggression which the Druchii had shown.

“Please my lady…” the southlander whispered, “ _p-leeeaassseee!_ ”

Clapping her hands together she bowed her head and prostrated on the bed before Raveres.

Breathing somewhat labouredly the she-elf raised a brow at Maya’s display.

Looking up the human smirked and the two shared an intense, erotic, staring contest.

Pointing towards Raveres and then herself, obviously indicating the tension and the toss, Maya asked, aloud; “Was that all?”

Playfully the human’s expression seemed to suggest she now wanted to pull Raveres’ levers, make her worked up and agitated as a form of playful tryst. But simultaneously she was teetering so close to her own satisfaction…

Maya wanted release, and at the moment, didn’t know just how to achieve it…

Running her tongue over her teeth Raveres turned her head away from the wonderful view of the two naked women on her bed towards _her Asur._

The star ‘cock’ of the show…

Having rubbed the soap and water from his eyes with a towel, Arathar, dropped the material as he stepped towards the edge of the bath.

Blinking and shaking his head he brushed some of his wet locks from off his face and stopped once he saw Raveres looking at him.

Once he met her eye she spoke, her face was neutral as she ordered, “Get over here _buck_.”

Her words were utterly commanding, but at the same time she sounded herself… _excited?_

Rhea moved her arms away from her face and furrowed her brow in concern as she looked from Maya, to Arathar, and then to Raveres.

“M-m-my la-lady.” She stuttered painfully, “please… I don’t feel g-“

Raising her head and bringing a hand to her mouth Raveres shushed the slave.

Blinking, her chest moving up and down fearfully the imperial slurred her words, “My lady, the smo-ine” she blended the words smoke and wine together and her cheeks reddened in embarrassment as she shut her eyes and brought her arms up to cover her face.

Raveres laughed, and cooed as she stepped seductively towards the bed.

“Aww, my poor little human.”

Mounting the edge of the plush bed the she-elf paused in her advance to look at Arathar, “I want you to stroke yourself.”

She moved her hand in the air slowly, pantomiming the action and the speed with which he was to comply.

“Any faster than this and you’ll sleep outside the palace, naked…” she smirked at the Asur’s surprised expression.

Chuckling to herself Raveres turned back to the bed and began crawling onto it.

Maya ran fingers through her hair, eyeing her mistress with expectation as her breath began growing shallower in excitement.

Walking along on her knees Raveres passed between the two humans, looking at either one before turning at Rhea, “Uncover your face my beauty… and _look at me_.”

Extending her left hand towards Maya’s face the Druchii cupped her cheek and began caressing her skin with a thumb. With her right she aimed at Rhea’s chin and began lightly running her fingers across her lips.

Without turning around she asked, “Which one cousin?”

After a few moments of quiet, Raveres looked over her shoulder at the panting Asur.

He’d complied with her orders and his hand was tentatively running up and down the length of his cock as he looked from naked form, to naked form.

Repeating herself playfully, lust brimming on her features, she looked back down and turned her head from one woman to the other, “Come on now, which one?”

Arathar furrowed his brow, “W-what do you mean?”

She sniggered in disbelief, before scoffing, “You’re hopeless.”

Raising away from her slaves the Druchii brought her hands off either one’s face.

Maya opened her eyes, once again disappointed that the touch had been removed and Rhea gulped nervously, her body shaking with every beat of her heart.

Standing straight Raveres pointed with her sword hand and began whispering the Druchii version of childish melodic choosing.

And when her finger settled on Rhea, the blonde imperial’s eyebrows rose.

Letting out a low cackle of perverted excitement the Druchii moved towards the human and straddled her nude waist.

Rhea’s eyes opened widely and she pursed her lips tightly as her hands made tight little fists at her sides. Her face became beet-red and she stared up at Raveres with barely composed features.

Beside them Maya opened her mouth as she watched on eagerly. Slowly the human began feeling herself and looking over master and slave.

Lowering herself over the laying human Raveres brought her right hand towards Rhea’s face.

Maya’s eyes widened and Arathar’s mouth opened in stupefaction.

Shutting her eyes tightly the blonde attempted to squirm and move under the she-elf’s hands, but straddling her waist and planting her left elbow beside the woman’s head made it so that the girl was unable to roll, or slide, away.

Raveres leant down and began an assault with her mouth, kissing the human’s skin and loudly smocking her tongue and pouted lips against her slave.

Maya watched almost enviously, her chest rising up and down rapidly.

“Now” she began, “We… need… to, mhmmm… establish something.”

Rhea was quivering and her skin twitched as her heart thundered, as Raveres continued, “I am… _very_ impatient…”

Chuckling and rising away from the human’s glistening mouth the Druchii waved the southlander closer.

“So, we’re going to combine a few things here…”

Maya eagerly complied and shuffled closer, pointing down as she moved Raveres ordered; “Maya, you work the top.”

Without any understanding of her language the swarthy human began kissing the blonde and touching herself as she did so.

Raveres brought her hands to the back of either woman’s heads and started pushing the two women together, letting go once they began kissing more of their own accord.

At first it was awkward, they were unused to one another, and neither had much drive to become ‘dominant’, yet Maya’s eagerness for release made her increase her efforts and become more aggressive.

Standing off the bed and stepping past Arathar Raveres mumbled, “Join in… Or did I purchase the only queer Asur on the continent?”

Scoffing and laughing to herself the Druchii slapped her fellow elf’s backside.

“You’re going to work the bottom.”

Arathar stopped stroking and looked at Raveres with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

…

Raveres was lying in the middle of the bed with her head resting on a pillow as she watched and rubbed herself with her sword hand.

Rhea was lying on her back writhing around, crying out while she shuddered and shook, as Arathar’s mouth wildly worked along her pussy.

Raveres had to admit his technique was awful, and visually he looked about as skilled as he was a Druchii… But his virginity with regards to eating pussy was endearing and erotic in its own way.

That and Raveres being high and plastered out of her mind certainly helped, by now each of them was.

Poor Rhea had momentarily lost her mind to the sensations and electric shocks which were tearing through her body…

Arathar was licking and moaning, cooing and grunting as he lapped at the lips and entrance of her womanhood lovingly. To Raveres it appeared that what he lacked in cunnilingal experience he made up for in passionate dedication.

The blonde woman tugged at the bedsheets weakly, scrambling for purchase as she came, her breathing having risen to a crescendo she ran her fingers lovingly across the top of Arathar’s head and he paused.

His jaw and tongue was sore from use, and he wasn’t about to catch a break.

For as he drew his mouth away from Rhea’s glistening and reddened cunt, he pressed his lips to her thigh and let out a loud moan of his own.

With his right hand he was desperately tugging at himself.

Running his hands up and down his shaft as hard as he could he was working himself so close to release.

His breathing rising Maya began running her hands across her body as she watched him and Rhea eagerly.

Blinking heavily and feeling a pleasurable wave herself Raveres almost blinked and let the comfort of the sheets take her when her eyes shot open and she felt a shot of energy.

“ _Nooo!”_ she slurred loudly.

Maya stopped and looked over at her, Rhea weakly tried turning her head and Arathar looked up drunkenly.

Pointing her glistening right index finger at him she shook her head, “Stop right now!”

Trying to sober herself she nodded and reached forwards.

“Don’t you dare spill your seed yet you Asurian bastard…”

Positively giddy with excitement Raveres stumbled as she tried to crawl across the bed.

“S-stand up!” she ordered, gesturing with her arms that Arathar was to rise up from the bed.

“W-wha?” he slurred, himself both sexually hazed and utterly intoxicated.

Crawling over Rhea Raveres came towards Maya.

The tanned human looked first at her mistress with interest, but then with perverse excitement.

“You will _fuck_ this human… and I’m going to watch…”

Raveres nodded before chuckling to herself, entertained.

Arathar rose up and away from between Rhea’s legs to look at Maya.

The swarthy human had been left to her own devices after Raveres forced his head towards Rhea’s blonde, tight, virgin pussy.

But now he took his hand away from his cock and looked towards the waiting human. All trace of apprehension now gone he nodded and plunged on at his mistress’ command.

…

After it all, when evening finally came…

When the four were rubbed nearly raw, with their arms, legs, and tongues sore from use…

They were crumpled in a pile with Rhea the first to pass out. She’d escaped Raveres’ attention and was closer to the head of the bed, curled against the wall under the pillows hiding herself.

Maya screamed once Arathar entered her, and she rode him until the two were ululating so loud Raveres thought that the city would hear them.

But as for Raveres, even after orgasming multiple times. Even after dominating her slaves completely.

She’d moved them into different positions, directed them and put her hands on them to encourage, to torture, or to add to their pleasure… She felt like the hierophant of some perverse Slanneshi ritual, and mixed with the smoke and drink it felt _good_

For a time

She made Arathar degrade himself by copulating with a human little better than a barbarian… And in turn she made the swarthy and impertinent human give in and break to Raveres’ will, _and Arathar’s cock…_

Rhea was used as well, her hands and her mouth was placed upon Raveres, Maya… and even Arathar, though for her sake she was so intoxicated she was barely lucid.

Climaxes came, and came… They were forced upon each of them, until exhaustion and a strange heavy weariness fell over the Druchii.

Then it unceremoniously petered out… Until the only one awake among the forms of naked flesh atop the bed, was Raveres.

At the moment she stared through the half-light at the room’s ceiling.

Her eyes bloodshot and her mouth curled in a pout she was strangely sober…

Even though she had stated that her worries were to remain out of the chamber, they had followed her.

And now, alone, and in the gloom, among the sleeping bodies of those she’d used.

Raveres felt some comfort.

But it wasn’t what she had hoped for, and something else hung heavily over her.

Resolving that she’d worked off her intoxication she needed to return to the embrace of the wine.

Glistening with sweat the she-elf rose from the bed, joints cracking and muscles aching, as she stepped towards the setting table laden with the now empty cask and empty plates.

Reaching for one of the uncorked green bottles of wine she shook her head and steeled herself.

Bringing the rim of the bottle to her lips she began downing mouthfuls of the Asur liquor, feeling a shudder run through her body she brought the glass away as she coughed and sputtered.

The sputter rose as she began to feel the weariness of her body take over and she let out an involuntary sob.

Shaking her head she growled and brought the bottle down towards the table as hard and as spitefully as she could.

Predictably it smashed in her fingers sending glittering speckles of wine out into the half-light like thousands of spilt diamonds.

Accompanying the noise and spray of liquid was the sudden burning and itching of the alcohol in the newly formed cuts in her hand.

Blinking and bringing the back of her left hand to her face Raveres wiped away some of the wine from her lips and brow before bringing her right hand closer to her eyes.

Across her palm were several embedded pieces of green Asur glass.

Letting out shallow breaths through her teeth she brought her hand to her mouth and slowly drew each of the long shards from her flesh.

They fell to the floor to crash and smash into the darkness.

She couldn’t care if her slaves heard her. She didn’t care about anything right now.

She was on a come down.

And it was one of the bitterest tastes she’d yet known.

Victory

Not once, not twice, but thrice, and in such quick succession?

Looking over the three sleeping forms atop her bed Raveres stepped towards the edge of the cushioned furniture, staring at her very own sweet meat.

Her mind was exhausted, and letting out a heavy breath it all seemed to finally dawn on her.

Closing her eyes and turning around Raveres allowed her body to give out from under her and she fell back.

Just before falling unconscious there was a soft rap at the door.

But as she fell, an entertaining half-thought crossed her mind and her soul laughed at it hollowly; ‘it could be the Witch King himself… and I wouldn’t care _less_.’

Landing beside Arathar and Maya, the Druchii collapsed in a bleeding and sweating mess.

…

Author’s note:

This was a very difficult chapter to write, hopefully it reads well and you enjoy it.

As always any suggestions, tips, comments, or feedback would be appreciated.

I’m hoping to be more active on Twitter, posting updates and such there, so check out my profile page and all that. (Yes I’m plugging myself here, what of it?)

Thank you very much and as always

Lots of love,

VV


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Summary: While the Druchii is locked away with her slaves, the world doesn’t stop spinning

The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres

Part Twenty Three

Yurin stood at the chamber door for a few moments after his mistress had dismissed him.

He could hear her muffled speech as she began, “You are each newly mine…”

Her voice was strange, and even though it was stifled by the wood of the door, he could tell that it was put on.

She was acting…

And what was most odd was that she used a tone of voice he’d never heard from her yet.

Furrowing his brow and blinking he turned and looked at the slave’s chests to the right of the doorway.

With a sigh he eventually stepped back from the portal.

‘She had ordered me to eat… and rest…’

Walking down the carpeted hallway he began the trek through the palace’s twists and turns to his own private quarters in the servant’s wing.

Chuckling to himself he mused, ‘Hopefully that Wick’tus hasn’t had my affects thrown from the nearest balcony yet…’

Somewhat relaxing his shoulders Yurin nodded and thought aloud, “Some food… water… and sitting on a cushion would actually be quite nice right about now…”

Moving his right hand behind him he rubbed at his glutes through his trousers, “Gods… that horses’ saddle was about as comfortable as a rock…”

Nodding to himself and quickening his pace he became more resolved to ‘relaxing’, he wasn’t ‘at ease’ by any stretch of the imagination; not after everything he’d seen, heard… or even he himself had done…

But that fatigue hadn’t yet set in. He was still in ‘work’ mode, and a lifetime of acting as a servant had provided Yurin with compartmentalisation skills second to none.

Finding the stair to the servant’s wing he began descending the familiar cool sandstone flight.

Memories of his fighting came to him in a muddled haze, “Guess I’m a man now…” he shuddered.

Holding the hilt of his longer blade he drew it enough to see a fingers’ width of shining steel.

Staring at the deadly implement he let out a heavy breath.

“I’ve a feeling I’ll get better at it the longer I serve this Druchii…”

Looking away from the sword and ahead he resumed his descent as further scenes and moments from the days previous began coming to him in increasing clarity.

As he came to the landing of the servant’s quarters he whispered to himself in affirmation; “That poor boy…”

…

“Prince Balik! _Behind you!_ ” a man roared.

Pushing away the foe he was currently engaged with the prince tried to turn around as another mercenary slashed at him with a scimitar.

Shuffling as best he could the slash missed its target, his neck, and instead opened a wound across his shoulder, right in between the defensive layers of his leather and scale pauldron and his scarf-padded throat.

He roared in pain and staggered to better see his new assailant, cursing him he growled; “Gah! Demons take you, you cunt!”

Stumbling from between the two mercenaries Prince Balik raised his sword as a voice near him cried in a foreign tongue.

The man who had attacked the prince from behind became distracted as two new riders joined the fray, almost from nowhere they barreled through the sandy dust clouds of the melee at full gallop, swords gleaming and drawn.

Taking opportunity of this reinforcement’s arrival Prince Balik drove his sword upwards and killed the mercenary. The other man whom he was previously dueling with jumped back at him with a cry and they resumed their fight.

A flash of silver steel glinted beside Balik as one of the riders tore past him; it struck the mercenary across the face and very surely saved the prince’s life.

As the mercenary fell back, slain, Balik was able to look up and see through the gold and red sands who his incidental saviour was.

The man atop the horse was actually not a man at all, and the princes’ eyes widened in familiarity.

His clothes were dishevelled and filthy, his hair matted with sweat and sand, but his pink skin was bright and lively, and he was small in the saddle…

_The squire!_

Chuckling through his pain the prince nodded and tried to hail the young Breton as he wheeled around and continued fighting.

Yet the boy was not alone!

A woman was a-horse and had followed him into the fray; wielding a scimitar she skilfully slashed and shot down attacks on either side of her steed.

Switching his sword to his left hand Balik clutched at his wound and surveyed the area.

With the arrival of the squire and his companion the forces of Al Daouk had won…

And now it was merely clean up, very few of the mercenaries now drew breath and the rescued citizens and labourers were clinging to the Emir’s men happily, singing praises and thankful to have been delivered from such a fate.

…

Jacque turned his horse and searched for any men not bearing the Emirate’s colours, but as he and Shen arrived it seemed that they’d well and truly beaten what was left of the mercenary force.

Coming to his side Shen pulled back on her reins and stopped her horse.

In her left hand was her bloody sword and she smirked when she looked at the squire.

“It appears they did not need us as much as you had feared.”

Pursing his lips Jacque nodded.

“R-regardless, I could not leave those in need wanting…”

She let out a quiet chuckle, in agreement.

The Master of Horse, Rakesh Debi, was still mounted and issued orders to his men before his eyes came over the two ‘reinforcements’.

He smiled wryly before riding closer, wiping his bloody weapon off on his tunic’s sleeve he sheathed the weapon and brought his hand to his head and down in a greeting.

“Boy! You are the young squire, yes?”

His accent was thick but Jacque understood him well enough.

Nodding happily he answered, “I am, indeed.”

He smiled, and risked cheek, as he asked, “Why? Were you looking for me?”

The man chuckled and looked around them at the carnage they’d wrought.

“Aye… the she-elf had men searching the whole city for you.”

Looking back he noticed Shen atop the horse and furrowed his brow, before he could say anything Jacque interjected hastily, “We’re to head back to the city now, yes?”

His voice dripped with youth, but sounded strangely mature.

The Master of Horse nodded and barked an order to one of his nearby men.

The soldier clopped closer, panting and his stubble’d face dripping with sweat, grime, and blood.

They exchanged a few words and then Rakesh turned back to the odd pair.

“We shall set back as soon as we are able; I hope to tell those riders there to fuck themselves, ha!”

Looking to where he had indicated Jacque and Shen saw the approaching heralds of Al-Haikk.

Remounting his camel Prince Balik groaned and held his hand stiffly to his wound but he rounded and set closer to Rakesh, Jacque, and Shen. Wincing and smiling through his pain.

Jacque’s eyes widened when he saw the prince, and the two shared a moment of affirmation.

Rakesh chuckled again, “This battle is now done? Eh?”

Jacque looked around, but Shen maintained a wary gaze on the men.

“We shall tend to our people and then begin back for the city.”

One of the riders behind them was corralling and whipping at some injured captured mercenaries.

Laughing Rakesh taunted and yelled at the prisoners, turning back to announce, “It is well we have live ones! Justice shall be done upon the bastards.”

Nodding and letting out a heavy breath he continued, “After all that has happened the people need to see something which shall lift their spirits.”

Before he could speak Jacque was interrupted as Prince Balik and Rakesh began chatting to one another.

Shen wiped off her sword, but kept it drawn.

“Is the man atop the camel a friend of yours?”

Jacque turned and raised a brow, “Well… not exactly. But we were companions.”

She hid a knowing smirk, before asking “He’s the Pauper Prince, yes?”

Jacque let out a breathy scoff as he looked over at the man again.

Balik’s fine silks and armour was scuffed and dirtied, his face filthy with sand and lines of sweat, his extravagant and haughty attitude when he had boarded Raveres’ vessel seemed ages ago now… And he seemed utterly changed from then.

“Aye…”

Looking past the men the squire saw the upended carts, the dying horses, and the injured people.

With a breath of weariness the squire announced; “Looks like we may be here a while Shen…”

Turning to his side he watched as the woman let out a sigh and sheathed her weapon.

“If we are… then I suppose we must help, no?”

Lifting her leg over the side of her horse she swiftly slid from the saddle.

Letting out a heavy and breathy chuckle in agreement Jacque nodded and began climbing down from his horse as well.

The sand kicked up from the fighting was dying down, but the sun overhead wasn’t about to cease its relentless and scorching heat.

“By the Lady…” he whispered under his breath.

Distracted by the multitude of things going on around him the Master of Horse set to other matters and merely gave Jacque and Shen an appreciative nod.

Setting his spurs to horse he began riding around the small battlefield yelling to his men and coordinating their efforts.

The heralds of Al-Haikk were getting nearer.

Helping the wounded to their feet Jacque and Shen joined the soldiers and freed citizens tending to their fellows.

“You’re too good for your own sake,” Shen said to the boy teasingly.

She and Jacque were aiding a wounded widow to her feet. Her arm had been broken in the cart’s crash and she was crying with gratitude. Loudly thanking them as they helped her from the bed of the upturned cart.

Smirking privately Jacque ignored Shen’s comment and instead focused on their new ‘mission’.

And a familiar voice gave him courage, ‘Aiding those in need is always knightly my boy…’

…

Worlds away, night was beginning to fall across Naggaroth and the spired, tall; black-stone walls of the Druchii capital began to appear in the distance, near the King’s isthmus.

But more than the hundred foot tall defensive crenellations stabbing the sky, or the hundreds of smaller temple towers, was the great tower of cold itself… The Black Tower of Malekith

Dominating the growing cityscape, atop a natural plateau nearer the centre of the metropolis, was Malekith’s palace. It was a massive citadel, like a city within the city, all built around the central megalithic structure.

Smoke rose from the innumerable insulae apartments, barracks, temples, trading squares, and mansions, contributing to the thick clouds overhead, and an eerie wind swirled this smoke around the breadth of the tower before the cool night breeze could dispel it.

Being so close to the gulf and then the Sea of Malice, a cool wind regularly blew in across the water, forcing the darkening clouds of the city’s smoke farther inland.

But to onlookers, it was as if the tower itself was exhaling the blackening plumage.

Despite its utterly awe-inspiring and dread appearance the significance of seeing the tower meant that at last, he and his men were home… And that his mission was at an end.

With a satisfied smile Malith drew a heavy breath and turned to his officers.

Under him his horse was panting, and a thick froth had built up in the corners of its mouth. But behind him, his force-marched men were barely keeping down their exhaustion.

“Men!” he cried.

“ _We’re home!”_

The declaration was met with jubilant applause as the hardened soldiers were allowed to slow in their pace.

Smiling Malith turned to his officers, “Be sure to barracks them nearer the king’s road and the main forum. I shall ride ahead with Cassian, Alithar, and my guard.”

The lieutenants nodded and the men mentioned perked up.

Clutching the idol to his breastplate tighter Malith adjusted his reins.

“Get the men refreshment, have ale, music, and women brought in for them, all cost shall be sent to my house.”

He chuckled, “Though if they want the whores they can pay for those themselves… Merely put the word out to the flesh houses that there are newly returned soldiers in need of _relaxation_.”

The lieutenants nodded, both smirking, “Aye general.”

Saluting they turned round and began yelling orders to the band and to the signalmen.

Looking almost reluctantly from his men Malith brought his eye to Curufor Alithar, “Well? After you, Black Phoenix”

The agent raised a brow and wiped at his nose with his gauntlet.

The two exchanged a tense staring contest before the noble Alithar set his spurs in and forced his beast ahead.

Smirking quietly Malith and Silus shared a knowing glance before they followed behind the plumed representative of the king.

…

When the general and his core officers arrived at one of the main gates of Naggarond the sun had set and the tops of the massive walls were alight with torches, and green burning witch-fire.

The great gates were closed and several heavily armoured guardsmen stood watch in front of the broad, studded, wood doors.

On either side of the gate were small spires jutting up out of the ground, crucified and withered corpses adorned them, standing as warning and testament to the fate which awaited those foolish enough to challenge the Witch King’s law.

The guardsmen perked up at the approach of the mounted officers and upon seeing Curufor the men saluted and yelled along their line.

The gates were noisily drawn upon and the small party began entering through the crack between the great wooden doors, passing the guardsmen without as much as another word.

Turning to Curufor, Malith furrowed his brow.

“Usually to enter the city at night we’d have to have contended with the unscrupulous city guard.”

Tightening the grip on his reins Curufor Alithar merely smiled in response.

As they entered into the great capital city he finally spoke, “ _Your_ men are not likely to be as fortunate.”

He dryly chuckled, “Why, they might not reach the barracks till morning. May even be forced to camp outside the city tonight…”

Growling lowly Malith turned to one of his riders, “Falithar ride back to them let them know this, and if it’s so bribe passage with whatever we have in the baggage train, or make promises on my name.”

The officer nodded and as he turned around Malith added, “Within reason! I’m not paying more than a Dreadlord’s ransom for a night outside the walls!”

Riding back to the gate the man nodded back at his general as he set into _negotiations_ with the gate’s guardsmen.

Curufor pointed ahead towards the city’s main forum, “The King does not like to be kept waiting Naguii.”

Keeping down a snarl Malith nodded reluctantly as their mounted entourage headed across the deserted square, the horse hooves echoing eerily across the cobbles.

…

Once the rescue mission had regrouped, and Master Rakesh had relayed his message to the Al-Haikk riders they set themselves into a column and began the slow march down the desert highway to Al Daouk…

Water was shared from among the riders to their people, and they were able to reuse at least one of the carts to transport the women, children, and injured.

The men also had corralled the horses of the dead and those which’d survived the cart’s crashing.

And now the informal train moved at a snails’ pace back ‘home’.

Rakesh and his men kept watchful eyes and maintained constant motion along the edges of the column, weary and apprehensive for any sudden raids by _real_ slavers…

Though as they travelled, and time wore on Jacque finally broke the monotony and turned to his new woman-companion, his curiosity finally having gotten the better of him.

“So Shen… you know where I come from…” he shook his head and scoffed, “by the Lady you even speak my language!”

The squire laughed uncomfortably, his adrenaline and confidence having waned since they worked with and helped so many people.

Raising a brow the oriental woman quietly watched as he finished his question.

“So… where is it you’re fleeing from?”

She pursed her lips and her expression hardened, “I am not _fleeing_ from anywhere little Breton.”

Furrowing his brow in confusion Jacque was about to pipe up when she continued, “Strange that I’d flee after coming into company of such colourful heroes, no?”

She looked out of the corner of her eyes at the squire and eventually his dull mind understood.

He’d no aptitude for intrigue, but he now wanted to smack himself as he thought, ‘Who knows who’s listening! Oh gods, you fool…’

Smirking Shen let out a breath, “Anyway, I am looking forwards to meeting this she-elf, which the captain mentioned.”

She pointed her left hand and indicated Rakesh, “A companion of yours?” she smiled.

“Had men scouring the _whole_ city for you?” her voice rose as she teased.

Jacque’s face reddened and he looked away, embarrassed, “S-surely after finding Sir Jean she was… it’s…” he shook his head, “A-a curtesy! A debt to my lord father…”

His eyes widened as he said the combination of words.

Shen smirked and nodded, “Now… I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting one.” She chuckled, “An elf that is… But I have heard the most _extraordinary_ tales of them. Such strange behaviours and manners…”

She chuckled and shook her head as she looked ahead.

“And you’ve befriended one?”

Shen continued her cute high-pitched laughed, “I must hear that tale.”

Jacque’s cheeks reddened and he couldn’t help but smile as he tried to play off the words.

“I…I…” he stuttered and cleared his throat, “Well… I saved her life…”

Thinking aloud he furrowed his brow, “I suppose she was merely trying to… even the scales.”

The woman beside him leant back in her saddle, “My, my! You _must_ regale this young knight.”

Smirking in embarrassment the squire began to explain how he and the noble lady Raveres came to meet.

He told of Sir Jean as well, at length, and he gave a condensed account of the whole of his journey so far…

It was strangely cathartic and with each sentence weight was relieved from his shoulders and his heart… as if he were revealing guilt- no, no… _secrets_.

Shen sat quietly atop her mount, nodding along and listening as the young Bretonnian shared his tale.

When he had finished she bowed her head solemnly and offered condolence, “Once again I am grieved to hear of your lord knight’s death.”

Jacque pursed his lips and thanked her quietly.

After a few quiet moments of trotting along Shen spoke up again, “But this she-elf you rescued, she seems a strange type, no?”

Jacque had neglected to mention that Raveres was a Druchii…

While Shen had said she was ignorant of elves, the young squire didn’t find an appropriate way to mention where his former companion hailed from.

“Aye, she’s… short tempered certainly… but I chalk it up to her presence in a foreign land and the loss of her crew and mission.”

He shook his head, “I think after what I just went through…” nodding quietly he finished, “I can appreciate her position far better…”

Shen smirked and watched as Jacque looked back up, his eye glinting with a strange confidence.

The two shared conversation about more banal topics, and before the woman could ask about the logistics of their arrival to the city and how Jacque was to make good on his word, dark clouds began forming to the south.

“Sandstorm!” became the resounding cry all up and down the line.

Widening his eyes Jacque looked to Shen and then to Rakesh, as the stern officer bellowed, “Group together! Cover yourselves!” he ordered.

Waving his right arm outwards the Master of Horse cried “Rally to me!”

As the loud thunderous noise began to sweep over the road Jacque pressed his right hand in a fist to his heart as he quietly prayed.

“Lady protect us…”

…

Lady Naguii sat upright in her bedding as she listened to the Death Hag Krieta’s words.

“And you’re certain of this?”

The Hag nodded and rubbed at her nose with her long nailed fingers, “As certain as the visions can be believed.”

She smirked, “At this moment?”

Lady Naguii nodded.

“I see him approaching the great tower.”

Furrowing her brow the matriarch was about to scoff when Titos interjected, “And the creature besetting us? That’s not near him?”

Krieta nodded, “So it would seem, but” she chuckled, “Were I confined somewhere and released, I wouldn’t wish to remain near the place of my bondage.”

Cheekily she eyed Titos and asked, “Would you?”

Grumbling Titos balled his fists.

“As a bride-priestess of Khaine, what blessings might you offer me as I embark on the potential suicide of my family?”

Velicion chuckled, but Krieta swiftly slapped and silenced her apprentice.

“Well, Lord Titos… Had you have come to my temple we’d have been able to better read the portents and the omens. Perhaps even make good on some hexes and remedies for your men.”

At this Lady Naguii growled, throwing off her sheets she stepped upwards and away from the bed.

Titos’ eyes widened, but before he could voice his protest his wife shot him a maddened glare.

“Riccard!” she roared, “Give me your godsdamned knife!”

The great Viking drew his rune’d blade without question.

Crossing the room the weakened Lady Naguii appeared to gain more strength with each step. Driven, or perhaps possessed is more accurate, by anger and malice.

Krieta and Velicion stepped to the side of the chamber and quietly watched on, both smiling in subdued excitement as their patron walked from her bedding.

“My love?” Titos asked futilely. His face and hands frozen in disbelief.

Ignoring her husband’s concerned words Lady Naguii sternly ordered, “Step aside Riccard!”

The Norscan obliged and moved from the doorway.

“ _My love?!”_ Titos cried, now more concerned and confused as his wife stepped out of the room.

“Silence!” she snapped back.

Once through the portal of the doorway she stumbled and threw her left hand to the wall to steady herself as she began descending the stairs.

She’d not been dressed since her return from the temple, and so despite the eyes of her servants, the Death Hags, or of her husband, the glistening, sweat-covered, nude, lithe, snow-pale body of Lady Naguii fluttered down the stairs, blade in hand.

Titos tried to quicken his pace to get ahead of the Hags, but the two women were so keenly watching Lady Naguii that they were almost ecstatic with delight.

“My love no!” Titos cried.

Nearly tripping down the last few steps Lady Naguii recovered as Tiana and Julé were bringing a bowl of water and a platter of food into the marble foyer.

The two women’s eyes widened at the sight of their naked and armed, mistress.

“Be gone!” she roared.

The slaves jumped backwards, spilling some water from the bowl, and a few slices of bread and cheese from the serving tray.

Gritting her teeth and gathering her strength Lady Naguii brought her left hand to the door of mansion’s salon.

Almost punching the door open she stepped into the opulent and cushioned room.

Lying on one of the sofas was Jaylish Kalinside, being tended to by an aged and bearded doctor.

Furrowing his brow and turning his head towards the doorway the young Kalinside barely had time to react before the naked Naguii matriarch was upon him.

Titos had sprinted down the stairs and nearly reached his wife if not for slipping on the water spilled by Tiana.

He was loudly yelling in protest while the Death Hags had begun ululating in maddened glee.

_“NO!”_ Titos roared.

But Lady Naguii had leapt towards Jaylish with the dagger held high. The doctor, with wide eyes tripped backwards, dropping his needle and stitching thread as the pale flash of Druchii womanhood flew at the couch.

With both hands on the dagger she drove the blade into Jaylish’s chest, and his lungs.

Coughing and struggling under her, the Druchii man put up a weak and token resistance as Lady Naguii began brutally eviscerating the Kalinside.

Titos stopped a few feet into the room and stared at his wife’s back as she brought the weapon above her head, shifting her weight, and awkwardly unbalancing herself she fell from the couch.

Though it was only a temporary inconvenience…

Rising to her knees she continued to stab at Jaylish as the noise around her increased; running into the room the Death Hags were now cackling and cheering until finally Lady Naguii stopped and turned around.

Dropping the knife she looked to her side at the terrified doctor.

Her face and chest was covered in Jaylish’s blood, and her breasts were dripping with it as it ran down the smooth slope of her fair skin.

Speckles of the bright fluid were also dotted across her forehead, splattered even as far down along her flesh as her belly and Adonis belt.

Panting and bringing her hand to her abdomen she winced in pain from the pulled muscles and stitch now aching in her side.

Breathlessly she spoke, almost comically ignorant of what she’d just done so forcefully, “My apologies, good doctor…”

She grunted and cleared her throat dryly letting out a shudder as she added politely, “I did not mean to startle you.”

Titos was breathing heavily as he brought a hand to run through his hair.

The Death Hags were grinning maniacally.

Running her right hand across her breasts and chest Lady Naguii made sure to wipe up as much blood as she could.

Showing her red slick palm to the priestesses she cocked an eyebrow, “Is this good enough to read from?”

Panting and baring her teeth in another wince, Lady Naguii watched as Velicion and Krieta looked at one another.

The initiate spoke first, “It might… but…” quieting the younger bride gave way to her mistress and Krieta continued, “We’ll have to act quickly before he gets any colder.”

The doctor crawled away from the sitting area and rose to an uneasy position nearer Titos’ desk.

The two Hags stepped forwards as they drew their own blades.

With a smile Krieta looked at Lady Naguii, “I didn’t expect you to do something so _rash_.”

Eyeing the Death Hag coldly the woman responded, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my children, or my family.”

Pointing her finger towards Jaylish’s vacant expression and stitched cheek she ordered, “Now flay him, open him from balls to brains, _I don’t care_ , but you will bring me good news, I swear, or may the harpies take you!”

Krieta grinned and looked Lady Naguii up and down as Velicion went to work.

“You know… when you came to my temple I thought you were a little coquette raven; a beautiful, albeit useless, wife to a power hungry man.”

Looking over her shoulder at Titos she chuckled.

The Dreadlord snarled before stomping from the room.

Krieta looked back down at Jaylish’s corpse, “I suppose I was wrong.”

Lady Naguii narrowed her bloodshot eyes, “Pray that you are wrong about the daemon as well.”

Twirling her serrated ornate knife in her fingers Krieta stepped beside Velicion and brought it down towards Jaylish’s ribcage.

Driving the blade farther through his chest and snapping several of his ribs the veteran Death Hag reached her talon-like hand into the bleeding wound she’d skillfully carved.

With a smirk she pushed into and felt around the chest cavity. Grinning and showing off her fangs Krieta took hold of the Kalinside’s heart, finally answering her patroness; “ _We shall see_.”

…

Grabbing Riccard by the strap of his cuirass Titos dragged him into the foyer, “I want you to make sure that the Kalinside men who’ll turn coat, do so, _now_. If our men arriving to their estate haven’t done what they were supposed to do, I want you to prepare for the seizure of the city’s gates. Understood?”

The Viking nodded, “Aye sir.”

Grunting in affirmation Titos let go of his major-domo and leant back.

He was breathing shallowly and his right hand shook from nervousness.

“Well Riccard…” he laughed sarcastically, “If we succeed this whole area will become mine.”

The Norscan offered a confident smile, “Aye it shall milord.”

Nodding Titos turned around, declaring wryly; “If not… we’re all going to hang.”

…

The sandstorm raged throughout the afternoon and into the night.

Only when the moon was high in the clear, star dotted, sky did it finally end.

It was awkward, but under the riding cloaks which they’d take from the saddlebags of their horses, Jacque and Shen became strangely intimate.

Steeling himself and repeating memorised prayers of strength the young squire did his best not to say anything stupid.

Shen, likewise, was quiet and kept her eyes closed as she occasionally hummed in meditation.

Anticipating only a brief storm the two remained quiet as the wind howled and battered them.

But eventually time wore on and the minutes turned into hours, until the darkness under their cover had melted away and blended into the night.

At some point, leaning against his new companion for support, the young squire had fallen asleep. And when Captain Rakesh kicked at Jacque’s booted feet to rouse him, the Bretonnian woke with a start.

The Master of Horse laughed, “Come now little Breton…

He extended his hand, “To your feet. We must likewise rouse the rest of our force.”

Clearing his throat the gruff and mature captain continued louder, “We’re a long way from our home, and far too many to adequately defend.”

Nodding he continued, “I only hope that if we make progress through the night we’ll reach the city before any others find us…”

Jacque’s eyes widened and he became soberly awake, ‘surely those riders from Al Haikk wouldn’t wish us ill?’

‘Do not be so sure my son… evil always lurks to hunt those who cannot fight…’

Narrowing his brow he looked to his sides at the mass of sleeping women and freed slaves.

Nodding Jacque looked back at Rakesh with resolve, “What must I do?”

…

Leaving behind everything and anything which would weigh the horses down the men reorganised themselves and took a child each upon their saddle, or a woman clutching to their back.

By doubling, tripling, and in some cases, with the very small children, quadrupling the passengers aboard the horses the train abandoned the cart and their impromptu shelter at the side of the road and set off for Al Daouk as quick as they were able.

As the sun soared to its zenith in the sky the mass of mounted people rounded the dunes and sandy hillocks to regard the fertile delta basin of Al Daouk.

Cheering and exclaiming in happiness to be home the freed citizens kissed and held their saviours tightly as they began a triumphant and successful parade to the mighty and familiar gates of the city.

Peasants outside the walls flocked to hail and cheer on the returning soldiers and rescued people.

Jacque’s chest swelled as the people crowded around them.

Shen looked around uneasily.

And the injured Prince Balik merely clutched at his bandaged wound, pale and tired from the hard riding. He regarded the people dully, and focused forwards, quietly.

Rakesh waved his men on and spoke to the prince before he turned to Jacque, “We must arrive to the palace… Much has happened! And much must be told.”

He nodded and smiled.

“Come now lad, and take heart.”

At this Jacque nodded before looking to Shen.

The woman had two small children riding with her, and with her left hand she kept the young passengers tightly moored to her abdomen.

She nodded to the squire and the rescue party entered into the city through the great maw of the lion headed gate.

…

Yurin was sitting and enjoying a humble meal of porridge when a palace servant approached him.

“Master Yurin…” the eunuch began, “I have been sent to retrieve you and to inform your mistress.”

Furrowing his brow and putting down his spoon the retainer straightened in his seat, “Aye? Inform of what?”

The servant bowed, “Master Rakesh Debi and his men have returned to the city. Great lord Sadalsuud is currently seeing them in the throne room.”

“Were they successful?”

The eunuch nodded, “They were able to liberate all those who still lived, and they even have many of the foul men to be made example of.”

Yurin sighed and leant back.

“Indeed…”

Taking a heavy breath he added, “That’s good… women and children mostly? That’s what we had suspected they’d made off with?”

“You are correct sir…”

The way the servant trailed off made Yurin look at him with interest.

“What is it? There’s more to this?”

Bowing the eunuch nodded, “The boy… the Bretonnian… he lives.”

At this his eyes widened and Yurin leapt to his feet, nearly jumping past the servant towards the hall, crying aloud, “Show me!”

…

Sitting upon his throne Sadalsuud looked down at the captured and bloodied prisoners with a scowl of utter contempt.

Finally he nodded, “To the square with them, behead them all and display their corpses above the gates.”

“With pleasure my lord.” Rakesh then nodded and ordered his men as the prisoners were dragged from the court.

Sighing and watching the men scream as they were dragged out of the palace Sadalsuud turned his attention to Jacque and his companion.

Eventually the bearded man smiled and spoke as the court herald translated.

“We are glad to see you living young Bretonnian…”

“But we’re sure that-“

Panting and bursting into the chamber from the servant’s hall Yurin came into view.

Bowing to the throne he voiced an apology before looking at Jacque.

Sadalsuud nodded in affirmation.

“We’re sure that there are those other than myself _gladder_ to see you alive.”

Rising from his seat the regent bowed his head at the neck to Yurin and then stepped down the stairs.

“Welcome back squire.”

His voice then turned deeper and solemn, “Your knight…”

He paused as he reached the last steps of the throne.

“We’ve seen to him, and he now lies in wait, ready to be taken home.”

He shared a hurt smile with the young man and nodded.

Jacque didn’t even notice, but he’d begun shaking and tears had formed in the corners of his eyes.

Regarding Sadalsuud the young man felt ashamed at the envy and ill thoughts he’d had towards the merchant prince.

He felt foolish for the thoughts and jealousy he’d allowed to grow when he first met… The glances which Sadalsuud had shown to Raveres and his words of praise to the she-elf…

Could Jacque have really blamed him?

And here the Arabyan was… selflessly telling the squire that Sir Jean was properly seen to…

The moment went on too long until finally finding his voice Jacque looked at the man he’d previously so intensely disliked, and let out his gratitude, “T-thank you…”

At this Sadalsuud nodded.

No translation was needed, and without another word the regent Emir stepped out of the room, his herald and several courtiers following.

Yurin shook his head as he slowly approached, regarding Jacque, and the mysterious woman with him, with utter dumbfounded-ness.

“We… we thought you were dead!” he finally declared.

Jacque shook his head, “I nearly was…”

Looking up from the squire to the oriental, and so far, mute woman Yurin furrowed his brow.

“W-who is this?”

Jacque turned and Shen raised a brow.

“This is… heh; this is Shen. She helped me escape.” Smiling Jacque turned back to Yurin, “, and without her, I doubt I’d have made it.”

“Shen this is Yurin…”

Bowing his head at the neck the retainer took over, “Indeed, I am retainer and seneschal to Lady Raveres…”

He smiled politely, “I’m sure that the squire’s told you of her already.”

Shen smirked, “A little…”

Yurin nodded before looking back at Jacque. “Well, come, come… Surely we can-“

“I’m sorry.” Jacque interrupted.

“But, I’ve a few requests to make…”

Looking at the squire the retainer raised a brow.

Drawing a breath Jacque looked at the retainer tensely.

“I’ve promised my companion passage to Bretonnia…” he indicated Shen and added, “As well I would like to go home… I… I’ve my father to bury…”

Yurin pursed his lips.

“Surely this will be on Raveres’ journey home, and so a stop along the Bretonnian coast wouldn’t be too great an imposition…”

Chuckling nervously the squire cleared his throat, “W-where is she by the way? I would have sworn she’d have been with Prince Balik and Captain Rakesh? Or at the least here in Sadalsuud’s court.”

Yurin looked down.

“When we rode out in pursuit of the mercenaries… and the… the false knights, we were of one host.”

The retainer’s voice lowered as he explained, “we followed throughout the day but eventually we had to split our force… I rode with my lady after the knights, while the rest of the Emir’s men went to rescue the citizens…”

Shaking his head Yurin paused, “You know we thought you dead? She though- nay, still thinks you dead.”

Jacque’s face reddened, “Well? Let us show her then I yet live!”

Yurin raised a hand, “Wait a moment young master… Lady Raveres… she…”

Looking at Shen the retainer pursed his lips uneasily.

“It’s just; she did not take the deception and lies of the black knights as best as one would have hoped…”

Jacque furrowed his brow and Shen watched on in quiet interest.

“Perhaps you might come with me to my chamber? I’ll tell you all of what happened.”

Jacque looked to his companion and the woman nodded, “I’m curious now myself.” She said with a chuckle.

Yurin nodded and turned back to the servant’s hall.

…

Approaching the dreaded entrance to the Black Tower had an effect on Malith that’d he never quite divorce from his mind.

The impressive architecture soared into the sky, reaching a height almost impossible to comprehend, its corners, the gargoyle statues, the support buttresses, the windows and battlements; everything about it was _fine_ …

Expert craftsmen from after the sundering had toiled, night and day, lovingly crafting the tower. In those days Malekith wished for a spire of opulence, grace, and intimidating power from which to project the majesty of his right to rule as the son and heir to Aenarion and therefore the Phoenix King.

And so, the tower’s grounds and palatial approach was a perverse reminder of the most grand of the palaces of Ulthuan and of old Naggaryth.

Marble was imported from far and wide; ebony, silver, and all the greatest minds of those who’d fled with the Witch King’s court had contributed to craft their greatest accomplishment.

No expense was spared to construct the vast chambers and mighty walls of the gargantuan complex. Construction of the tower itself went on for centuries; day and night… as artisans, slaves, labourers, and all manner of other workers toiled, under the lash, or lovingly at their craft.

Yet as time wore on the memories of Naggaryth soured, and the dream of a palace to rival those of Ulthuan was slowly eroded.

The craftsmanship which went into the grand ballrooms, the council chambers, the apartments, and the many other private rooms for noble living waned.

And eventually the palatial aspect of much of the tower was abandoned, with some wings becoming sealed off completely for millennia, their tapestries and grand painted hallways dark, without anyone ever viewing their vaulted ceilings and fresco adorned walls.

Much of the tower was like that now; cloaked in near-perpetual darkness and twilight. Rooms were never entered by nobles or courtiers and life was restricted only to the occasional Black Guard patrolman bearing an orb of witch light atop a stave.

Cursory inspections still needed to be carried out and the unspoken reaction for every man which passed through these epitaphs to a bygone era was one of unbridled elvish melancholy. Best surmised as; _what could have been_.

Mirrored glass sconces and great chandeliers of exotic crystal hung empty throughout the tower’s halls, and for centuries now green witch light was the only source of illumination once inside the great building.

Passing along with an escort of armour clad Black Guardsmen Malith swallowed as he clutched his precious cargo to his chest.

Curufor had taken his helmet off and was now carrying it under his arm.

Once they’d gotten past the curtain wall separating the grounds of the tower from the rest of the citadel and noble quarter Malith and his men noticed that Curufor became far more rigid.

He was never that loose during his travels with them, but now, as they trod through the halls of the Black Tower, the agent of the King seemed, somehow, even more stuck-up.

As if somebody had tied a spear to his back the man marched ahead, almost in tune with the footfalls of the plumed and masque wearing Royal Guardsmen, only periodically turning his head, as if to make sure that Malith and his men were still there.

Yet after the third turn General Malith noticed that it wasn’t he, or his men, that Curufor was looking at.

Glancing down to his dreaded cargo the Naguii furrowed his brow.

‘Just how important is this little idol?’ he wondered.

Coming to an extravagant staircase the men were greeted with a great bath of witch-light, so far the most light that they’d seen since entering the Tower.

The elaborate stairs were so broad Malith judged that twenty men could stand abreast across one flight.

The angle of the staircase forced onlookers to crane their necks upwards towards a landing which then split into three smaller staircases. One wrapped around the length of the chamber along the left of the wall, the other the right, and the third middle one seemed to go on towards another landing far out of sight, into the gloom, almost into the sightless, cavernous, ceiling itself.

The Black Guardsmen filed to either side of the stairs and turned face to stand, motionless, at attention.

Malith and his men looked at one another as they stood, even Curufor seemed somewhat uneasy as they waited at the base of the stair.

Eventually they heard the patter of feet down the wide steps and at the edge of the stairs above them appeared a man and two others.

The Druchii man was between two armoured and cloaked figures, and he himself was wearing a suit of plate. Yet he’d neglected his gauntlets and pauldrons, to Malith it looked like he was caught in the middle of undressing.

From where he stood the General couldn’t quite make out the features of the noble’s face, only that his skin was given a strange hue from the ample, green, witch light.

Peering over the edge of the steps the man called down, “Curufor Alithar, and Malith Naguii?” his voice was elegant and very refined.

He smirked as he looked down at the men.

“We weren’t expecting you till tomorrow.”

The dark figures beside the herald didn’t even appear to be breathing as they stood a few paces back from the steps onto the landing.

His smirk grew into a smile, “But we are _most_ pleased that you’ve arrived.”

Waving his hand he beckoned them, “Come, come. We’ve a chamber set and prepared for you; surely you are all weary from travel and battle, yes?”

His voice was strangely accommodating, and seemed more suited for a functioning palace rather than the utter _sepulchre_ which the Black Tower actually was.

Curufor mounted the steps first and began hopping up them as fast as he could.

Furrowing his brow Malith followed suit, ‘Oh this little worm… I can just smell his treachery. He’s going to steal credit from me!’

Doubling his pace the general eclipsed the Witch King’s agent, and then a strange race began between Curufor, Malith, and Malith’s men.

…

They were led up the right, winding, staircase and into a lavish apartment room. The grand banquet table had been set with a feast and goblets of wine sat already poured for the men.

Slaves wearing masques stood to the sides of the chamber motionless; the only indication that they were actually alive, and not statues, were their chests moving as they quietly breathed.

The King’s herald spoke greatly and led the men in, bidding them to take their seats. He spoke almost utter nonsense, but Malith and his men, even Curufor, seemed put entirely at ease.

The herald spoke of the wine’s vintage; he described some the business of the court that day… Almost erratically and following no pattern, nothing more was said about what they were waiting for, why they were there, their mission, nothing…

They were simply bid to sit, enjoy the wine, and eat to their heart’s content.

The herald added that if there was something which they’d wish for they merely had to tell one of the ten slaves waiting against the wall and it would be fetched.

With a bizarre bow the herald excused himself and left the men to sit in the chamber alone.

After a few tense minutes the men finally began to partake of the Witch King’s hospitality.

For those of the entourage who were from peasant backgrounds they were stiff from the fact that they were simply in the Black Tower to begin with.

They looked around with near-religious reverence at everything, from the walls to the carpets, paintings, even the chairs.

For Malith and Silus they could only nervously glance to one another.

Looking to Curufor Silus finally asked a question burning on his tongue.

“What is it we’ve got there Alithar?”

Raising a brow the Black Phoenix slowly looked to his fellow Druchii.

“A daemon…”

Malith looked down at the wrapped idol in his hands and slowly brought it up from his lap.

Regarding the item with apprehension he slowly laid it atop the table.

Silus began staring at the item intensely before shaking his head and exclaiming, “Bullshit…”

At this Curufor scoffed, “Do you think I’d be sent to gallivant with you fools for nothing?! Cutting down and surviving those Autarii clans?”

He snarled, finally letting loose his contempt, “I slogged through the mud and shit and ate dried rations with the rest of you. I soldiered more than my breeding ever should have allowed, because I was charged _by my King_.”

He reached and took hold of the blue glass goblet in front of him and swallowed a mouthful of the dark red claret.

“I did as I was bid, and it was _naught_ for ‘bullshit’.” He spat to his side, “So hold your goddamn tongue you fucking peasant.”

Silus’ eyes widened and he immediately stood, knocking his chair back.

The newer slaves against the walls flinched as he prepared a growl, but Malith’s voice interrupted, “Silus! Sit down before you get us all killed.”

Curufor smirked and stared back at Malith’s second in command.

Running his tongue across his teeth Silus looked to the first slave in the waiting line.

“You there.”

The slave looked up and the dark eyes behind the silver Caedlin-style masque met Silus’.

“Bring me wodca and a freshly cut Asur’s ear.”

The slave bowed without hesitation and swiftly walked out of the room.

Picking his chair back up Silus sat down seriously before one of the other officers began laughing, “What the fuck was that?”

Silus, though still angry at Curufor, couldn’t help but laugh as well, eventually declaring, “Well that pompous herald said they could get us anything right?”

Malith scoffed and reached for a few ripe grapes sitting in a bowl nearer the middle of the table.

The tension ebbed as the men sat and continued to wait. Slowly venturing bites and sips of the feast laid out for them.

When none of them died they became far more comfortable in partaking of the food and wine, almost forgetting the oddness of the herald or the mute obedience of the masque wearing slaves.

After a while they were actually at ease, and even Curufor seemed to have relaxed somewhat. But when the slave finally returned he was carrying a clear crystal bottle of the northern alcoholic drink Silus had asked for, as well as a small silver serving tray.

The men’s laughing and comfortability evaporated as they watched the slave come beside Silus and place down the bottle and tray.

Lifting the cover off of the plate revealed a single, bloody, Asur’s ear.

Silus’ eyes widened as he stared down at the grotesquery.

The slave, in an even voice asked plainly; “Would my lord like me to tap the bottle?”

Looking up from the freshly dismembered ear Silus’ voice came out lowly, “N-no, that’d be all.”

The slave bowed and stepped away, back to his post to wait along the wall.

Malith looked at the ear the same way as all the men, and the reality that they were _literally_ in Malekith’s Black Tower finally rang home and the tension and discomfort returned.

Curufor finished his drink and chuckled, “Bullshit huh?”

He looked from Silus to the others and then to Malith.

“You’re all fools.”

…


End file.
